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THE CLIMBERS 

A STORY OF 

SUN-KISSED SWEETHEARTS 

id V* 



Glad Tidings Publishing Co. 
602 Lakeside Building, Chicago, 111. 




Copyright, 1912 

BY 

Yorke Jones. 


4eM~ , 


6CV 


© Cl. A 3 2 8 6 5 1 
*H<4> - / * 


CONTENTS 


BOOK ONE. 

I. A New Student g 

II. Without a Name 13 

III. Quite Funny 21 

BOOK TWO. 

IV. Down in Dixie — At Work 27 

V. Some Rockford Folks 33 

VI. Give Sorrow Words 39 

VII. Just Among Ourselves 45 

VIII. A Disturbed Siesta 51 

IX. Jennie Cross’ Story 55 

BOOK THREE. 

X. “Dat Boy”..... 67 

XI. In the City of the Dead 73 

XII. How Zeke Brown Lost His Diaconate 79 

XIII. At the Gate Beautiful 85 

XIV. Hurt to the Heart 95 

XV. Instant in Season and Out 99 

XVI. “A Little Child Shall Lead Them” 103 

XVII. A Sunday in June 107 

XVIII. Zeke Brown’s Vision 113 

XIX. Wilson’s Ungenerous Act 123 

BOOK FOUR. 

XX. How a “Friend of the Peopul” Made Himself 131 

XXI. Monday, September the Twenty-sixth 135 

XXII. A Wedding Gift 137 

XXIII. Much Land Yet to be Possessed 145 

XXIV. “O Fond Dove” 149 

BOOK FIVE. 

XXV. Tidings 157 

XXVI. A Man *59 

XXVII. A Progressive Fairy Tale 165 

XXVIII. The Fruitage Forbidden 171 

XXIX. The Flight from a Plight 175 

XXX. At Twilight 181 

XXXI. A Voice Out of the Darkness 187 


9 


BOOK ONE. 

‘Tar From De Ole Folks at Home” 
In More Than One Sense 

“Oh darkies, how my heart grows weary, 

Far from de ole folks at home.” 

— Foster. 


* 














CHAPTER I. 

A New Student. 

“But let my due feet never fail 
To walk the studious cloysters pale.” 

— Milton. 

With distressing frequency the gentle, tall, thin, pale 
Greek-looking professor of Greek in Norwalk College for 
colored men was writing a goose-egg opposite my name 
in his grade book. I can see him now part that flowing 
salt-and-pepper beard from thin, sensitive lips and calmly 
say: “Mr. Wade will please recite.” Yes ; and I can see 
myself rise and simply flounder because I had no text 
book. When I, Joseph Wade, heard that the truant 
Xenophon long before ordered was at last in the express 
office, I made tracks to get it. Pretty deep tracks they 
were, too. I had to flounder through a two-foot January 
snow from Norwalk College to the depot, a half mile from 
the campus. 

I had secured the Greek book, and was about to return 
to the college when the afternoon train arriving, left on 
the platform something that interested me far more than 
the Historian’s time honored Expedition of the Ten 
Thousand Greeks, or yet his Recollections of the immor- 
tal sage who, on charge of corrupting Athenian youths, 
was condemned to drink the fatal hemlock. 

The new student, Augustus Fairfax, was that some- 
9 


10 


THE CLIMBERS 


thing. My risibles were touched by the contrast between 
his appearance and high-sounding name. Augustus Fair- 
fax ! He was smooth-black, tall and thin — even to gaunt- 
ness. As nervously restless was he as a blooded racer. 
He wore a soft black hat creased in the middle, perched 
jauntily on the side of a large, close-cropped, shapely 
head. Though he had on a cheap country-store suit, 
whose pant legs were stuffed in the tops of coarse ox-hide 
boots, acres too large for him, yet he was in the glory of 
a ruffled bosom shirt with gold studs in it! 

My face was si aight, but I could not keep my heart 
from laughing at Fairfax, though it became apparent to 
me, as I panted to keep pace with his rapid strides, that 
he was simply green, not dull. I learned from him before 
we reached the campus that he was born of slave par- 
ents; brought North, a child, soon after the war; reared 
on a farm in an adjoining county, whence, three winter 
months in each year, he had been sent to the excellent 
district school where the color line was not drawn, and 
where he had made good progress in his studies. 

A crowd hides some natures. Fairfax’s, however, was 
such that he could not but impinge himself on notice. 
His induction into the student body served to manifest 
what an original, wide-awake, fun-loving fellow he was. 

One effect of his impigning himself on the notice of 
the student body was that he became the college butt of 
fun, and was thought to be very light hearted because he 
seemed so amusing; but there was not a more sober- 
headed man in Norwalk than this youth, at whose say- 
ings and doings the college roared. 

Because the present was new and the future bright, 
Fairfax was hopeful; though not so light hearted as he 
seemed comical. 


A NEW STUDENT 


ii 


Fairfax’s race are America’s butt of fun. They, too, 
are thought to be very light hearted because they seem 
amusing; but while the black man is hopeful (because his 
present is new and his future full of promise), yet it is a 
grave mistake to imagine that the child of Ham feels 
free of care, because, to his brother in white, he seems 
amusing. 



















CHAPTER II. 
Without A Name. 


“A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown.” 

— Gray. 


The winter of 1878, the one that Fairfax entered Nor- 
walk, witnessed a great religious awakening among the 
students. In this revival one of the most active and 
efficient student-workers was my classmate and friend, 
David J. Holt, the only candidate for the ministry in our 
class, and, at this time, probably the most influential stu- 
dent in Norwalk. 

There were reasons why he was so influential. Here 
are some of them : He was a fine mind ; a hard, success- 
ful student; a man of deep piety; yet, withal, one of the 
most chummy fellows and greatest athletic enthusiasts 
in school. Of fine physique and presence, the usual 
height and weight, chestnut colored, with silky brown 
hair and open, honest, dark hazel eyes, no one studied, 
played ball and did Christian work with more energy 
than did the only candidate for the ministry in our class. 
Then, too, Holt had seen more of life than many of his 
school-mates. Years before he had been in Norwalk’s 
course, but, for lack of funds, had fallen out ; and, 
despairing of being able to resume his studies, had mar- 
ried. His wife, however, had died with their first child, 

13 


14 


THE CLIMBERS 


Julia, now just in her teens. With his handsome second 
wife and Julia, an unusually bright and attractive girl, 
he was now living in a cottage that faced the beautiful 
campus. Holt and his wife were about the same color 
and had hair the same color and texture; Julia, however, 
was a shade darker than they ; but was brown-haired and 
frank-eyed as her father. 

The Holt home was a sort of Mecca for the students. 
Fairfax took quite a fancy to Holt and myself. Probably 
because we were disposed to see him have fair play 
against a set of fellows who liked to amuse themselves 
by teasing the young rustic. He was a pure-minded 
youth; and, withal, full of innocent fun, and therefore 
was quite welcome at Holt’s home, and consequently 
found his way there quite frequently. 

The young man’s partiality for Holt and this welcome 
in the home of the influential student made the latter 
instrumental in leading Fairfax to the Cross. 

I was too sick to be out of my room the night our 
quasi-ward found peace. My friend, however, detailed 
to me the circumstances. After prayer-meeting the zeal- 
ous Christian worker had gone to the young inquirer’s 
room and talked and prayed with him. “I had got home 
and was getting my next day’s lesson,” so Holt told me 
afterwards, “when someone came thundering at the front 
door. When I opened it, in burst Fairfax like a storm, 
catching me around the waist, crying rapturously with 
eyes like stars: “ 'Oh, Mr. Holt! I’m so happy! I’ve 
found him!’ ” 

Holt and his wife, so he told me, wept in sympathy 
with the young convert’s joy. What seemed singular to 
the father is the fact that Julia, though not a professing 
Christian, was likewise moved to tears with Fairfax. 


WITHOUT A NAME 


IS 


His conversion was an event ; for natures such as his 
do nothing by halves. He became “a city set on a hill 
that cannot be hid” ; but his triumphant, demonstrative 
zeal, while delightful to the earnest, was to another set 
of students simply amusing. Nor was it long, in conse- 
quence of the attitude of these, before clouds obscured 
the sun in the young convert’s sky. 

This came to pass about three weeks after Fairfax 
made a profession. He came into my room in great dis- 
tress one night. I had just finished my lessons for next 
day, and was about to turn aside to shorthand, in which 
I was taking private instruction. A matter I had heard 
about brought him to my room. 

It seems that the day before the young man, whose 
duty it was to distribute the mail to the students in their 
rooms, undertook to have some fun with Fairfax. The 
said mail-agent, arriving at the country youth’s room 
door, said, waving a letter tauntingly before Fairfax’s 
face, “Here is a letter for ‘Abraham Lincoln’; I guess you 
are the rail-splitter.” The impetuous young rustic had 
snatched the letter, slammed and locked the door in his 
tormentor’s face before that worthy realized exactly what 
had happened. 

At first he supposed Fairfax had snatched the missive 
in either pique or fun; but notwithstanding the mail- 
agent’s most vehement remonstrances, the new convert 
refused to give up the letter. As a last resort, the affair 
was reported to the President, Dr. F. R. Dale. 

The distressed young man came to me. “Why haven’t 
you been over to see Dr. Dale?” I asked him. 

“Because,” was his sheepish reply. I imagined my 
voice betrayed the annoyance I felt over his conduct as 


i6 


THE CLIMBERS 


I said: “It looks pretty ugly — your opening and keep- 
ing mail that’s not yours.” 

I turned my back on him to go on with my work. He 
was sitting in awkward silence, — his hat between his 
knees, — looking like a criminal. In a voice that smote 
me to the heart for my harshness, he broke the long, 
painful silence. “Mr. Wade, that’s why I am here; I 
came to get you to go over to Dr. Dale’s with me.” 

I relented and agreed to go. Norwalk had got used 
to my scribbling shorthand in season and out. In fact, 
Dr. Dale encouraged me to do this; so he thought noth- 
ing of seeing me draw out my tablet and take short- 
hand notes of the interview between himself and Fairfax. 

Dr. F. R. Dale, ruddy, well proportioned, stood six 
feet in his socks. A once black but now mixed patri- 
archal beard swept to his waist overflowing the immacu- 
late shirt bosom that a low-cut broadcloth vest revealed. 

A figured study-robe flowed to his heels, while on his 
once raven, now mixed abundant locks, perched, crown- 
like, a study cap above an open ample brow and eyes 
keen but kind. The imposing physique, the sharp eyes 
that nothing escaped, the broad, square chin, the firm, 
generous mouth and the deep, rich voice — these all told 
those meeting Dr. Dale that they were in the presence 
of one of nature’s kings. He sat in his capacious, high- 
back leather lounging chair, and peering kindly over his 
gold glasses at Fairfax, asked gently: “Well, sir, what 
can I do for you to-night?” This question to Fairfax 
indicated that the President surmised the new student’s 
errand. 

“I’ve come over, doctor, to — to see you about that 
letter.” 


WITHOUT A NAME 


1 7 


What about it, sir?” asked the doctor, bending on 
the youth a glance beneath which he winced. 

“It’s — it’s mine, doctor,” blurted he. 

“Yours ! How can that be? It is addressed to Abra- 
ham Lincoln. Is your name Lincoln, sir?” 

“No, sir, doctor; I'm not named anything! I ain’t 
got any name !” replied he bitterly. 

“Why, I thought your name is Fairfax?” asked the 
President with a broad smile at the rustic’s heat. 

“No, sir, doctor, I haven’t got any name.” 

“How did you come to open a letter addressed to 
Abraham Lincoln, then?” asked the official with a still 
broader smile. 

“Because,” replied Fairfax sheepishly, “that used to 
be my name, and somebody that knowed me by that 
name sent me some money.” 

“Don’t say ‘knowed,’ but knew me.” 

“Oh, doctor, I’m too worried to talk grammar!” 

At this we all laughed. 

“If the letter is yours, I don’t see why you should be 
worried?” laughed Dr. Dale. 

“I see!” exclaimed the young man excitedly, leaping 
to his feet, standing erect before the president. “I see! 
If it gets out about my name,” he went on impetuously, 
“every dunce in Norwalk will be making a fool of me 
about it!” 

“You use strong anguage, sir” said Dr. Dale, evi- 
dently pleased at Fairfax’s power of expression. 

“Well, doctor, I feel strong about it; for everywhere 
I’ve been made a fool of about my name; I mean,” fin- 
ished he in deep pain, “because I haven’t got any name.” 

Dr. Dale was touched. He asked in altered voice: 
“How did you come by the names Lincoln and Fairfax? 


THE CLIMBERS 


iS 

You told me when you came here that you were born in 
the South,” he added to encourage the youth to talk 
about himself — evidently a thing painful to the new con- 
vert. 

“Yes, sir; I was born a slave. This I know because 
I have some indistinct recollections. I don’t know exactly 
where I was born nor when. I was with my mother in 
a tent in a Union camp one night when a skirmish took 
place. In the darkness and confusion, I got lost from 
her. I thought I’d find her when daylight came, but 
I’ve never laid eyes on her since.” 

Here he paused under stress of feeling. Dr. Dale 
wiped his eye and blew his nose. 

“How did you get North?” he asked in altered tones. 

“I was brought North by the Quakers who were look- 
ing after the orphans of slaves. They brought a whole 
lot of us children North to an asylum. I didn’t know 
anything about my folks, and I didn’t have any name, 
so they called me ‘Abraham Lincoln.’ They meant all 
right, but everywhere I’ve went,” he continued, warming 
up at the thought of past annoyance, “I’ve been made a 
fool of about my name !” 

Corrected, the president: “Don’t say ‘everywhere 
I’ve went,’ but everywhere I’ve gone.” 

“Oh, doctor,” broke out the young man with a broad 
grin, “I know that the past participle and not the past 
tense should be used after the verbs ‘have’ and ‘be’ We 
committed grammar in the school I went to before I 
came here; but nobody, not even the teacher, bothered 
about talking it.” 

“Well, sir,” laughed the good doctor, “we in this insti- 
tution learn grammar and talk it.” 

“Yes, sir, doctor,” replied Fairfax, broken off from 


WITHOUT A NAME 


19 


the thread of his narrative and feeling in awkward self- 
consciousness for his chair to take his seat. 

“I did not mean to interrupt your story, sir,” said the 
president. 

“No, sir, doctor,” replied the black boy, again becom- 
ing erect and graceful as his feelings again beguiled him 
into self-forgetfulness. 

“As I was saying, I’ve been made a fool of, always, 
about that name, Abraham Lincoln. For what goose 
wouldn’t know that I’ve no right to that name !” 

“I should think you would be glad to bear the name of 
so good and great a man.” 

“Oh, the name is good enough, but I just got tired of 
being everlastingly teased about that name, so I got the 
folks that brought me up to get my name changed by 
law to Augustus Fairfax. 

“That’s more high-sounding than Lincoln!” laughed 
Dr. Dale. 

“I don’t care, sir ; people don’t tease me about it, any- 
how.” 

As the letter really was Fairfax’s, President Dale saw 
that there was nothing to do about it; so far, therefore, 
as that feature of the matter was concerned, the young 
man went back to the dormitory satisfied, and I went 
with him, having had a good inward laugh at the boy 
and an inward cry with him over the story of his child- 
hood. 












CHAPTER III. 

Quite Funny. 

“The virtue of prosperity is temperance (self-control) ; the 
virtue of adversity is fortitude, which in morals is the more hero- 
ical virtue.” — Essay, Adversity — Bacon. 

Augustus Fairfax was not far wrong in dreading the 
consequence of the matter respecting his name becoming 
known. When the facts leaked out, a great shout of 
derision went up. He was dubbed the Anonymous from 
Eutopia, the Missing Link, the He-Topsy that never was 
born but “just growed. ,, Norwalk had such a good time 
at the young convert’s expense that his religion was put 
to a severe test, as he was the butt of all sorts of jokes 
and pranks. 

Here is one of the class of jokes. A younger brother 
of one of the professors had died away at college, and in 
consequence of the body’s being brought home to Nor- 
walk for burial, we were having a holiday. A great 
crowd of students were on one of the porches of the dor- 
mitory in which Fairfax roomed. As he approached the 
porch, some wag in the crowd called out to the black 
rustic: “Come here, Fairfax! I want to tear you up to 
make crepe out of you for the burial.” 

A great shout of laughter was sent up by the delighted 
crowd. After that he was called “crepe.” 


21 


22 


THE CLIMBERS 


Then, too, he was made the victim of many a half- 
grown boy prank. One of these, however, did not prove 
so funny for its perpetrators as it was hoped it would. 

Three of the new student’s most persistent torment- 
ors, all city fellows, Robt. Saxton, Henry Don and Bill 
Halsey, went to the country lad’s room one Saturday 
afternoon and announced that they were going to cobb 
or haze him in honor of his new name, The Anonymous. 
The young Christian was not long in reaching the deci- 
sion that peace must be conquered. Instantly, there- 
fore, he not only declared war, but immediately and most 
literally and vigorously “carried the war into Africa.” 

He had just come in from the foot-ball field, where he 
had left the bulk of the student body engaged in a match 
game of foot-ball, at that time still a gentlemanly game 
for the many, not yet having degenerated into a brutal 
fight between a few ; consequently he had on not the city 
clothes and shoes purchased since his matriculation, but 
he wore the country-store clothes and heavy thick-soled 
bull hide boots in which he arrived at Norwalk. He was 
naturally as agile as a deer and labor on a farm had made 
him as tough as his lubbering bovine footgear. 

What of the encounter, do you ask? This: his fists 
and feet got in such good work that Robt. Saxton carried 
his arm in a sling for two weeks from a fall on the ice ; 
Henry Don had the pleurisy in his side from a cold ; Bill 
Halsey had the rheumatism in his left leg so bad that he 
had to walk with a stick, while Fairfax — the funny, the 
even-tempered, after his boots had caused all these com- 
plaints, Fairfax, the sometime man of peace, Alexander 
like, sat down (on the side of his bed) and wept that 
there were no more worlds to conquer. With his cheeks 
streaming with bitter brine and his eyes as red as fire, he 


QUITE FUNNY 


23 


is reported to have cried in a fury that recked not of gram- 
mar: “Are there one, is there two more that wants to 
cobbme? Let ’em come on ! By Jacks! I kin lick any 
such fools in Norwalk!” But so far as the three were 
concerned, he was wasting the sweetness of his challenge 
on the desert air of their absence; for they had gone to 
take off their wounded and bury their dead. 

This hazing incident never reached the ears of the 
authorities; yet it did get out among the boys, though 
you may be sure the three kept mum, and though Fair- 
fax did not tell it — unless he unwittingly let out the 
secret that same evening at the nightly voluntary prayer- 
meeting. The young convert was in deep distress and 
very penitent. 

His prayer that night contained these significant 
words: “Thou knowest we do love Thee, and that we 
do want to do right. Forgive us for all our sins; for 
Thou knowest how hard it is to be teased for what you 
ain’t responsible for.” 

There is a saying that “all the world loves the lover.” 
Yes, and it loves the fighter, too. Else how comes it to 
pass that the soldier is the world’s first hero? No; the 
hazing incident never reached faculty ears ; but it did leak 
out among the boys ; and when it did, it is only just like 
human nature (which loves the fighter) that Fairfax 
stock took a rise with Norwalk students. He was never 
teased thereafter, probably because it was hard for a 
fellow to continue to seem funny who had such good use 
of his fists and feet. 

It would be a mistake, however, to suppose Fairfax 
thereafter owed immunity from teasing to muscular 
prowess wholly, however true it is that it is not human 
nature to withhold admiration from brawn. 


24 


THE CLIMBERS 


What form of education a young man ought to bring 
from college is an old debate ; but what kind of boy you 
send to school is infinitely more important than to what 
kind of institution you send the boy. Steel is worth 
sharpening; but what’s the good of sharpening lead? 
What’s the use of having a boy go through a college 
course, if he has not brains enough for the college course 
to go through him ? 

There were all sorts of ability in this Negro college, 
just as all sorts are to be found in white ones; but Fair- 
fax was steel; he was capable of having the curriculum 
go through him. If a college is a world wherein there is 
aristocracy of brains rather than that of blood, the coun- 
try youth without a name soon vindicated his right to 
be regarded as a high peer in Norwalk’s aristocracy of 
brains. 

It was said in the outset of this history that our 
class had only one candidate for the ministry in it the 
year Fairfax entered Norwalk — that is, Holt. Robert N. 
Wilson joined us as a candidate for the Holy office 
when we reached the Junior year. After our graduation, 
these two returned to Norwalk to take theology, there- 
fore, while I went off to study medicine, as Norwalk had 
no medical department. When, three years later, Wil- 
son, Holt and myself finished our professional courses, 
Fairfax graduated from Norwalk at the head of his class, 
having become, by his industry, uprightness, talents and 
sunny heart, the most popular and influential student in 
Norwalk. 

The butt had become a hero. 


BOOK TWO. 

An Idyl of June — A Romance of Growth. 

“What is so rare as a day in June? 

No matter how barren the past may have been, 

Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green ” 

— Lowell. 


\ 













CHAPTER IV. 

Down in Dixie — At Work. 

“What is a man, 

If his chief good and market of his time 
Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. 

Sure he that made us with such large discourse, 

Looking before and after, gave us not 
That capability and god-like reason 
To fust in us unused.” 

— Hamlet, Act IV., Scene IV. 

Fairfax got a position as teacher in a State normal 
school in one of the Gulf States when he went from Nor- 
walk; Wilson and Holt each took a church in the North, 
while I went South and hung out my physician’s shingle 
in the city of Rockford, where there were more colored 
than white people. 

I saw an opportunity for my church in the city of my 
adoption, and fixed on Holt to help get it up. But being 
a Northern man, he preferred work in the North. Besides 
this, he had a family dependent upon him, five with Julia, 
who had just graduated and gone South to teach; so he 
did not see his way clear to take hold of the mission. 

I knew that Wilson was my next best man — pious 
and persistent, tactful and talented. Soon, by united 
effort, Wilson and myself had effected the organization 
of a church that we believed would become a power for 
good in that community. 


27 


28 


THE CLIMBERS 


I had no reason to complain of the practice that came 
to me in this city of twelve thousand Negro population. 

There were a large class of intelligent, respectable, 
well-to-do colored people in Rockford ; so that what with 
the friends I made professionally, what with those I 
made socially, and what with having my class- 
mate as pastor, life went pretty well with me. 
Moreover, being a Northern man, the open hospitality of 
the people, their social and religious life, and the pic- 
turesque dialect of the untutored of them — these all kept 
me busy making shorthand notes of the things I saw and 
heard in my new world. From these notes, begun from 
my first hour in Rockford, I am able to continue this 
history. 

Wilson and I kept bachelor’s hall until our church 
was organized. That same week he went to live with 
two of our members, Mr. and Mrs. A. G. Harper, who 
had a comfortable, tasteful home ; for he was a fine shoe- 
maker and she a trained nurse. Mrs. Harper was neces- 
sarily, therefore, much away from home. The burden 
of housekeeping, however, and the care of little Alfred, 
Junior, a winsome chap in frocks, fell on the capable 
shoulders of Mrs. Harper’s younger sister, Miss Alma 
May Montague, an interesting girl in the twenties. 

A year after Wilson left me to continue keeping bach- 
elor’s hall I was able to do better by the race and better 
by Holt than if I had succeeded in getting him as my 
pastor. 

A vacancy occured in the faculty of the Rockford 
Normal and Industrial College. This was a State co-edu- 
cational institution manned by a colored president and 
faculty. 

The president, one of the older Norwalk men, and 


DOWN IN DIXIE — AT WORK 


29 


myself were good friends. Besides that, I was on good 
terms with the white Board of Trustees. One of the 
most influential of these having come South and built 
the Rockford street-car lines, knew Holt personally; for 
he had helped my classmate in school. These influences 
combined to elevate David J. Holt to the vacant profes- 
sorship of rhetoric. 

He moved South during the summer and began work 
in September. Julia, who had been teaching in the 
South, so impressed the president, that he had made her 
teacher in the model school of Rockford College. This 
work gave her children as pupils. Unfortunately, how- 
ever, in March the president A. F. Garnet, died of pneu- 
monia. 

Who does not know that small communities breed 
cabals and jealousies? Therefore, rather than put a 
brand new man or one longer connected with the school 
in the vacant presidency, the trustees thought it wiser to 
elevate Holt to that dignity. 

This they did ; he was every way eminently fitted for 
the position. The new president used his influence to 
have Augustus Fairfax, who had been teaching English, 
appointed to the vacant professorship of rhetoric in 
Rockford. 

Though Julia Holt had been appointed to a position 
in Rockford college, an important position, too, she was 
quite young and a mere sylph of a figure. She was under 
usual height, not what you would call a handsome girl ; 
but her high soul so shone out in her fine eyes, hazel and 
frank, and she had so much of her father's noble mein, 
tactful manner and vivacious spirit, that those who came 
in contact with her conceded her fitness for her position 
and usually thought her a beautiful woman. 


30 


THE CLIMBERS 


As for the quasi ward of Holt and myself, Augustus 
Fairfax, the sometime Anonymous — how much educa- 
tion, time and contact had done for his appearance and 
manners since I first met him on the platform at Nor- 
walk depot ! There was that in the bearing of the pleas- 
ant-faced, smooth-black young man, so easy in his man- 
ners, so pleasing in address that bespoke the man of self- 
respect, culture and mental power. Modest, frank, ear- 
nest and genial, he looked the gentleman and professor. 

To no mean position had my friend Holt been pro- 
moted; for Rockford State Normal College, built at a 
cost of eighty, and receiving an annual appropriation of 
fifteen thousand dollars, consisted of six men and five 
women teachers, and of one hundred and fifty young men 
and two hundred young women students. The substan- 
tial, commodious, beautiful four-story brick T-shaped 
college building was situated on a beautiful plateau over- 
looking the city towards the west. Discipline is of 
unspeakable importance in a higher mixed school ; there- 
fore all the teachers, for the purpose of discipline, were 
required to live in the building, except the president. He 
had a house. 

The school property, comprising thirty acres, had 
before the war been the estate of Dr. Warren Pogue, an 
aristocratic Southern gentleman. The president’s resi- 
dence was the fine, large, old pressed-brick two-story 
mansion of ten ample, high, elegantly finished rooms — 
downstairs a study, two parlors, a sitting and a dining 
room. 

Holt said he never would have gone to the expense of 
furnishing becomingly a rich man’s house, if he had not 
felt that his position demanded that he do so. He and 
Mrs. Holt had excellent taste; so the elegantly finished 


DOWN IN DIXIE— AT WORK 


3i 


white man’s house was furnished throughout in quiet, 
simple elegance. 

I know enough about the world to know that the 
Holts’ home was, in refinement, not behind what would 
be expected of a white family in a similar position. 















CHAPTER V. 

Some Rockford Folks. 

“Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 

Nor grandeur hear, with disdainful smile, 

The short and simple annals of the poor.” 

— Gray's Elegy . 

Dr. Joseph Wade had no reason to complain of life. 
Had I not a large, growing, paying practice? Then 
think of having lifelong friends in Rockford — President 
David J. Holt, Professor Augustus Fairfax, Rev. Robt. 
N. Wilson and Mrs. Holt and Miss Julia. 

Many a fellow going from school out into the world 
goes out into what, so far as his former associates are 
concerned, is a wilderness, where, in being the only edu- 
cated man of color in the place, he is monarch of all he 
surveys; but it mightily sweetens being somebody and 
having something, to be able to be somebody and have 
something, surrounded by friends, who have grown up 
with one. 

Now, in Rockford there were not a few college bred 
men and women besides my school friends. 

Yes; the lines had fallen to me in pleasant places — in 
very pleasant places indeed. 

I knew the city’s highways and byways and the peo- 
33 


34 


THE CLIMBERS 


pie, and took pleasure in making my school friends 
acquainted with the same. Some of the older — that is, 
the dialect talking folks, said this: “Wharevah you see 
one dem new folks whar done come heah, you almos’ sho 
to see mo’ of ’em!” 

Rockford is one of the slow, conservative cities where 
everybody knows everybody. Hence the city had time 
to notice strangers. Your big bustling up-to-date city — 
oh, the pity of it ! — has no time to do this. 

This is why, I suppose, the following was said of the 
Norwalk coterie: “Neva did see sich folks to ramble 
Tout gitten ’quainted wid everbody, an’ all de time axin’ 
questions.” We heard some very romantic stories about 
both races, and got acquainted with some highly inter- 
esting characters by our rambling about. 

One of these was Jeter Horn — “ole drunken Jeta,” as 
he was called. He was remarkable, not because he was 
a drunkard — for indeed there were plenty of drunkards of 
both races around town — but what was remarkable about 
Jeter Horn was his fondness, when half-tight, for using 
grandlioquent or high-flown language. President Holt 
laughingly declared that if Jeter had been educated he 
would be a poetic orator. He was about fifty, ginger- 
cake colored, the usual height, slight built but robust. 
It was a common sight to see him half drunk, his head 
thrown back, his eyes rolling, his hat in his right hand, 
go stepping high, wide and frolicsome down the street — 
he eschewed the sidewalk when tight — the meantime 
holding his arms off from his body as a hen holds her 
wings when about to fly, and in a loud, mellow voice get- 
ting off a rigmarole of nonsense the ilk of the following: 
“I is a man you don’t see every day. Skimmed milk 
masquerades fo’ cream. Circumstances alters cases. Ef 


SOME ROCKFORD FOLKS 


35 


I’m not correct, correct I, Jeta. Many prophets of evil, 
whar done seed visions an’ dreamed dreams, has done lif 
up deir onsanctified voices an" saed : ‘Ole Jeta ain’t long 
fuh dis worl’. But dem same prophets has gone to try 
de vas’ langth of an onknoan eternity; but heah I is, a 
free creature of Gawd, walkin’ ’bout dis ole Rockford, 
ketchin’ de cool breeze, eatin’ ma co’n bread an’ herins, 
an’ drinkin’ ma whiskey.” 

Jeter was quiet enough when sober, and inoffensive 
when drunk ; so the authorities did not lock him up ; but 
laughed at his nonsense as everybody else did. He 
worked at white-washing, wood-sawing and gardening, 
and made his home with anyone that would tolerate him. 
This, respectable people never did for very long; so he 
was at first one place and then another, usually among 
the shiftless and disreputable. 

Another interesting character was Ezekiel Brown — 
called Prophet Zeke and Uncle Zeke. He was Jeter’s 
age, a trifle darker than he; not gray except his mus- 
tache, the only hair of consequence that he had; for he 
was as bald as a baby on top of his head. 

He was an active, robust man of intelligence, as his 
keen face indicated; but unlike Jeter, he was highly 
respected by both races. He worked in the cemetery, 
being employed by the city. In addition to this, many 
wealthy families gave him the job of caring for their 
plots; so that he made, between the city and these, a 
very good living indeed. He had no family ; so he made 
his home with his niece and her husband, a fine brick- 
layer. The cemetery, a beautiful place beautifully kept, 
adjoined the park, equally beautiful. Wilson, Fairfax, 
the Holts and myself, in our strolls in the cemetery and 
park, saw much of Zeke Brown, who had evidently taken 


36 


THE CLIMBERS 


the “furriners,” as he called us, to his heart. It seems to 
me he knew the family history of everybody in town — 
white and black ; and he liked nothing so well as to enter- 
tain the “furriners” with present-day gossip and past-day 
history of both races. Consequently, we heard in his 
picturesque dialect some interesting tales of Rockford 
people; for the old man was very much flattered by our 
noticing him to the extent of seeking him. 

Though Rockford College was outside of the city 
limits, yet I believe the Holts, because I piloted them 
around, knew as much about the city as I did, who as 
a physician had to go in every nook and corner. 

I did not have so many opportunities to take Julia 
out to drive, however, after Fairfax came to town; for 
though he walked she preferred strolling with him to 
driving with me. This would not be worth mentioning 
but for the fact that the young lady preferred walking 
with Fairfax to driving with any of her admirers, among 
whom may be mentioned the other single man in Rock- 
ford faculty, Professor Allen Garnet, the former presi- 
dent’s nephew; Mr. Henry Blake, Rockford’s most suc- 
cessful colored lawyer, and Mr. Warren Pogue, one of 
Rockford’s most well-to-do young colored green grocers. 

This preference led the Holts to see not, with dis- 
pleasure, that Julia and Fairfax were under the spell of 
the little blind god. I told Holt how I saw it was going 
to be between these two if they ever got a chance. I saw 
it \yhen he told me how Julia wept and laughed with 
Fairfax when he found peace. 

I knew Holt well enough to know that he was very 
well satisfied at the turn of his daughter’s heart affairs 
had taken; and I think I do Mrs. Myrtle A. Holt no 
injustice in saying that while she had the highest respect 


SOME ROCKFORD FOLKS 


37 


for Fairfax, and would not for worlds have admitted that 
she harbored color prejudice, yet, nevertheless, I am sure 
I do her no injustice in saying that she would have been 
better satisfied if Julia’s choice had fallen on a man not so 
dark as Fairfax was. Indeed, I know that she preferred 
Mr. Warren Pogue above all of Julia’s suitors. 

And who was Warren Pogue? He was the son of 
Dr. Warren Pogue, a rich white man, Jeter Horn’s ex- 
master, who was notorious in Rockford as a drunkard 
and libertine. He had both a white and colored family. 

After having been a notorious drunkard around Rock- 
ford for so many years that his name became a synonym 
for sottish libertine, he had recently died in the insane 
asylum of softening of the brain. His son lived with his 
mother. He was an upright gentleman and a fine, suc- 
cessful business man. But his antecedents being what 
they were, Holt charged his wife with preferring Pogue 
above all of Julia’s suitors, simply because he looked like 
a white man. (Both Blake and Garnet were about Julia’s 
color.) 

Mrs. Holt’s defense of herself was her weeping on 
her husband’s shoulder and crying : “Dave, you’re always 
accusing me of being prejudiced to color! and you know 
very well I am no such thing!” 

Holt told me he simply kissed her and laughed at her. 











CHAPTER VI. 

Give Sorrow Words. 

“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak 
Whispers the o’erfraught heart, and bids it break.” 

— Macbeth , Act IV., Scene III. 

Apropos of my remarking to Holt that I had long ago 
surmised how it was going to turn out with Julia and 
Fairfax, he said: “Wade, old fellow, it does seem to me 
you see soul things before anybody else sees them.” 

I noticed that Holt did not commit himself as to the 
opinion he had held about Fairfax and his daughter. 
Fathers are not usually very voluble respecting their feel- 
ings about their daughter's marriage ; for I suppose that 
though a father knows his daughter's happiness is bound 
up in her marriage, yet he does not relish the thought 
of some other man being more to his daughter than he is, 
just as a mother rarely enjoys having a woman come 
between herself and her son. 

I don't know that my spiritual or psychological insight 
is as keen as my friend thinks it is ; but I am altogether 
certain that nothing, not even a human body, so interests 
me as does a human soul. I said this to Wilson once. 
He replied: “If that’s so, you ought to be a minister.” 

I might have been a trifle vain over supposed ability 
to deal with soul problems, but for an experience that 

39 


40 


THE CLIMBERS 


completely emptied me of vanity — an experience I had 
with Miss Belle Clay, a patient I was called to see soon 
after I hung out my shingle in Rockford. 

Miss Clay’s folks were in good circumstances and 
highly respected. Her father, for years and years, had 
been night-watchman at Maitland’s factory, one of the 
largest of the kind in the State. One of the most loving 
and sunny souls you ever saw was her mother, a short, 
cream-colored woman with what once was coal black 
but then mixed, silky hair. 

In younger days she was accounted the handsomest 
woman in Rockford, which never was poor in women of 
color pleasant to look to. Except that she was taller, 
Belle was the exact image of her mother, a wholesome, 
warm-hearted little thing with good, practical sense, a 
teacher in the public school. 

“Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ; 

Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow?” 
asks Macbeth of the physician engaged for his wife insane 
with remorse because of the murder of King Duncan. 

I felt that my engagement for Miss Clay was prac- 
tically asking me the same question — asking me, “Canst 
not thou minister to a mind diseased?” For the young 
lady’s trouble was wholly mental. 

She had been engaged to Dan Neal — handsome Dan, 
a great beau and considered one of the finest catches in 
town. And be it known that there were about six mar- 
riageable girls to every marriageable fellow in what was 
considered the highest social circle of Rockford. 

Dan had gone North — he was a barber, and had the 
next best paying white shop in town — and the next news 
was that he was married. He had married a Rockford 
girl that Belle had cut out. Poor Belle had the brain 


GIVE SORROW WORDS 


4i 


fever over his marriage. I saw that no remedy a drug- 
gist can compound could reach her case. I thought of 
these other words from Macbeth: 

“Give sorrow words : the grief that does not speak 

Whispers the o’er fraught heart and bids it break.” 

Accordingly, I sought to give grief a tongue. I 
strove to win her confidence in order to get her to pour 
out her heart’s sorrow to me. I visited her, lent her 
books, took her out socially, took her to walk and to 
drive for no other purpose than to give her a chance to 
talk to me about Neal. My treatment worked like a 
charm. By the time the Holts came South (and, by the 
way, she and Julia struck up a wonderful friendship) 
Belle seemed to have grown ashamed to talk about Dan. 
I was glad enough, too; for I can tell you, I had begun 
not to relish hearing her talk of him. 

Yes; the treatment worked like a charm so far as she 
was concerned; but as for me? Well, now, that’s the 
part of my experience that emptied me of all vanity 
about ability to solve soul problems, for I had solved 
her problem by making one of my own. 

What a goose I was! What else could be expected 
of a young susceptible man’s pitying a girl with eyes 
and hair like midnight, and a complexion like a luscious 
pear? Wilson laughed at me and said: “Old fellow, it 
will not do for you to administer the same remedy to all 
young lady patients with Miss Clay’s trouble.” I said: 
“I don’t want to try to.” 

A year and a half after Fairfax’s appointment in 
Rockford College, he and Julia had set the day. It was 
to be in September. In March preceding that Septem- 
ber I had a buggy smashed — a blessed smash! 

I had to knock old Molly in the head. She stepped 


42 


THE CLIMBERS 


in a hole and broke her left foreleg. I hated it like all 
the world, for she was an affectionate and intelligent old 
thing, and you do get so attached to an animal that 
you’ve had for some time. 

I prefer a faithful, loving dog or horse to a deceitful 
person every time! You see, you don’t expect much of 
a dumb brute; so its shortcomings don’t hurt you as a 
person’s do. My new horse, Lary, a barrel-like, short- 
legged, powerful bay gelding, was a fiery rascal! but I 
felt confident that I could manage him. 

On the seventh of March, I was driving past the 
Graded School where Belle taught. It was recess time. 
Young Africa, seven hundred strong, were filling the air 
with the glad noise of liberty. Lary pricked up his ears. 
When I was opposite the girls’ play-yard one of Belle’s 
girls — a mischievous little minx — threw a paper bag with 
some banana peelings in it over the fence towards me, 
shouting with mischief in her voice: “There, Dr. Wade! 
Miss Belle sent ’em to you!” 

Perhaps I was not as alert to Lary’s movements as I 
might have been. I confess I was craning my neck to 
get a peep at Belle. The bag split, spilling the peelings. 
The high March wind blew the rattling bag right in 
Lary’s face. Then and there the old fellow danced the 
kan kan, whirling around like a flash, hurling me out of 
the buggy, my head hitting the curbing. 

The foolish horse — well, they say the only reason he 
ran so hard was because he couldn’t fly! He had made 
kindling wood of the buggy before some street hands 
stopped him. Recess was over when I regained con- 
sciousness, and I found myself on a lounge in the Prin- 
cipal’s office, alone with Belle. 

The teachers, some of them, said — and there were ten 


GIVE SORROW WORDS 


43 


in the building — that they did not know how in the world 
Belle got down stairs and out in the street. Of course 
I didn't know. And I assure you I didn't care. It was 
enough for me to open my eyes and, above me, see her 
sweet eyes swimming with tears. 

That was in March. May fourth we were married, 
Wilson tying the knot. I didn't know how popular we 
were until our wedding took place. It was a home affair; 
but nevertheless Zeke Brown had this to say about it: 
“Dem folks had fine doins, an’ some o' de bes’ eatins a 
man evah shet his teeth down on." 

Some time before, I had bought a lot and built a 
house, where I was keeping bachelor's quarters, taking 
my meals at Maria James', one of Rockford’s crack cooks. 
Somebody has said it takes more than good land and 
tools to make a good farm — there is needed a good farmer 
to do that. Equally true is it that a fine house and fur- 
niture do not of themselves make a home; it takes a 
woman that knows how to do that. Belle knew how. I 
got a house and furniture, and she did the rest — that is, 
made a beautiful homelike home; not a small achieve- 
ment by any means. Many a professional man in mar- 
rying his intellectual equal weds a woman that is as 
helpless as a baby about making a home. That's usually 
because of the foolish kind of seminary education that 
totally ignores the fact that God made woman to be a 
mother and home-maker. Belle, however, got her house- 
wifely skill in the best possible of all schools of domes- 
tic training, namely, in a well-regulated home. 

I told Belle I think I got the better of the bargain in 
our marriage. 





























































* 













































































l K ' V ' 





















CHAPTER VII. 

Just Among Ourselves. 

“We may live without poetry, music and art; 

We may live without conscience, and live without heart; 

We may live without friends; we may live without books; 

But civilized man cannot live without cooks.” 

— Lucile, Owen Meredith (Lord Lytton.) 

Love makes our world beautiful. Yes, and it gives 
us an interest in all things connected with the loved one. 

Now there was Lary — I would have liked to keep him 
because of what he had done to help me win Belle; but 
after breaking my buggy, the old goose was always try- 
ing to run away! Humph! Horse nature and human 
nature, if either once takes bit in teeth and runs off and 
smashes up things, either a horse or a person finds it 
harder to keep from running off ever after that. 

Yes; it spoils a horse to let him run off once. Belle 
begged me to sell him, which I did very reluctantly ; for 
I felt kindly towards Lary for helping me to win Belle. 

Then, too, there was that girl that frightened Lary. 
The day we had been married one month we were to 
have to dinner the Holts, Fairfax and Wilson — just 
among ourselves, we said. 

I was driving rapidly home to meet our guests just 
as public school let out. I saw on the street the girl that 
had thrown towards me the paper bag that had fright- 

45 


46 


THE CLIMBERS 


ened Lary. I stopped and said : “Come here, sissie, will 
you please ?” 

She dropped her head and ambled shame-facedly up 
to the buggy. I suppose she thought I was going to 
scold her. I took out of my vest pocket a brand new sil- 
ver dollar and gave it to her. 

She ducked her head in acknowledgment of the gift, 
too surprised to speak. While I drove off, I looked back 
and saw her companions gathered around her where she 
stood, riveted with astonishment, as she exclaimed in 
awed tones : “Look what Miss Belle’s husband done gin 
me!” 

That gift was an expression of my joy at being Miss 
Belle’s husband. 

When I got home, I found only Professor Fairfax and 
his fiancee, Miss Julia Holt. Neither her parents nor 
Rev. Robert Wilson could come. 

Well, now, didn’t we four have a most delightful 
time, though! Fairfax was just bubbling over with fun. 
Good food doesn’t usually put people out of humor. He 
insisted on calling me Mr. Dear, and Belle, Mrs. Darling. 
You can imagine why. 

When we were nearly through with dessert, we had 
two callers, Zeke Brown and Mom Kitty Parker. They 
met each other at the gate. Uncle Zeke, in his “ ’galia, 
was gwine to a turnin’ out of de de lodge. He jes drapt in 
to ax de Docta to call by an’ see my niece, Nancy. She’s 
sort o’ poo’ly to-day.” 

Mom Kitty had “come to see her son, de Docta, who 
done ma’ied, an’ my li’l baby Belle. Lawd, chillun, I 
didn’t have no idee you all was havin’ a big dinin’, else 
I wouldn’t a come.” 

Mom Kitty’s husband drove a delivery wagon for a 


JUST AMONG OURSELVES 


47 


great dry goods firm. All five of their children were 
married and living away from Rockford. She was a 
monthly nurse, tall, walnut wood colored, powerful of 
frame, with the sweetest voice, widely known, and loved 
by both races for her sweet motherliness. Every phy- 
sician in the town knew he could depend on Mom Kitty. 
She was off with one of her daughters when we were 
married. 

I had got her up from a severe sickness, and Belle 
was one of her babies; hence, as soon as she got home, 
she had “come to see my children in deir new home.” 

We insisted that she and Zeke should have some of 
our dinner. Zeke at first demurred, saying: “I ain’t 
used to eatin’ wid de white folks. ’Cause you all is de 
poure quality.” 

When they got to the table, however, the old man got 
over his real or assumed embarrassment. His spirits 
arose as the good things to eat descended. He grew 
quite garrulous. 

“I tell you, ’tain’t nothin’ sweetens vittals like hard 
wuk.” 

“Preach it, Prophet Ezekiel,” mischievously ejacu- 
lated Fairfax, staring at Julia, who, though usually a 
light eater, had, by reason of her morning classwork and 
the walk, done ample justice to the dinner and was now 
having her third helping of cream. 

“Ef Pm a prophet,” grinned the old man towards 
Julia, “I ken tell you, Miss Julia, dat de nighes’ way to 
a man’s heart is by way of his mouf.” 

“Ain’t hit de dyin’ — de livin’ truth!” ejaculated Mom 
K,5tty. “Belle, honey,” continued she, beaming on her, 
“ef you want to manage de docta, you feed him, chile.” 

“Yas,” put in Zeke, “I don’t ker ef de docta is a poure 


48 


THE CLIMBERS 


white black man, I bet he gits mad when he wants his 
grub same as I does. When I comes home an’ dinna 
ain’t ready, I don’t want Nancy to go wastin’ time a tell- 
in’ why ’tain’t ready! I wants dat grub! She ken tell 
why she didn’t have it ready arter I done et. Den I ken 
’predate de beauty o’ de reasons ; for’ a hongry man ain’t 
got a bit mo’ reason den a rabbit. Haw! Haw! Haw! 
Haw!” laughed his big mouth. 

“Pretty lords of creation, you men are !” replied Belle 
in feigned scorn. “I don’t see what makes them so fool- 
ish about a little something to eat,” added Julia, “women 
are not so unreasonable.” 

“I tell you de cause why,” said Zeke. “ ’Cause de 
women is de cooks, an’ dey ain’t got nobody to git mad 
wid. Hit’s like de brides dat make ’tend dey don’t ker 
whut dey has to eat. I’ve noticed dat when a bride says 
one thing to eat ’same as another, hit’s a sho thing dat 
gal don’t know how to cook! Haw! Haw! Haw! 

“I ain’t treadin’ on yo’ co’ns, is I, Miss Belle? ’cause 
dis dinna speaks fo’ you.” Belle looked pleased. 

“You are not treading on mine, Uncle Zeke; for I 
know how to cook,” said Julia; “besides that, I’m not a 
bride; but if I ever become one,” she continued, a flush 
on either cheek, “I’ll profit by your advice to Belle, Mom 
Kitty,” she added, addressing the old lady, who looked 
pleased. 

“Ef you evah become one!” Zeke reepated slowly, 
looking at the flushing Julia teasingly, with one eye shut ; 
“ef you evah become one ! Humph ! Why, a little bird 
done tole me, ef you should die widout becomin’ a bride, 
you’d have a frown on yo’ purty face in de coffin, Miss 
Julia! Haw! Haw! Haw!” 

We all joined him in the laugh. 


JUST AMONG OURSELVES 


49 


Belle was about to help me to some more cream, and 
said banteringly to Fairfax : “Mr. Professor of Gab, join 
Dr. Mindcure in some more cream ?” 

Fairfax arose, and from behind his chair gave Belle 
a most profound bow and said as solemnly as a judge: 
“No, I thank you, Madame Darling. More of the chilled 
quintessence of the fluid product of the animal sacred 
to the Hindoos, I will not take; for so copiously have I 
indulged the clamorous calls of a craving appetite, that 
an oppressive sense of inward fullness admonishes me, 
admonishes me most eloquently to desist from further 
participation.” 

We all laughed at this but Julia. She said: “Gus, 
you remind me of Jeter Horn.” 

Zeke chuckled: “Good souls! Ef I spit dictionary 
like dat, hit would knock all de teeth outen my head, so 
I couldn’t chaw my vittals !” 

Fairfax delighted to put his fun in the form of the 
mock heroic. I’ve seen him amuse himself by talking in 
grandiloquent terms to a group of workmen who seemed 
to enjoy it as much as he did, just as I have seen the 
ignorant country people who used to go to Norwalk com- 
mencement sit spellbound under the Latin salutatory. 
I’ve often heard them say : “Dat fust speech wus de purt- 
tiest one of all.” “My! ain’t dat Latin sweet!” “Hit 
sholy is purty talk.” 

I am sure these people didn’t understand a word of 
what was said; but the very flow of Latin appealed to 
their sense of music, just as big words, more musical than 
short ones, appeal to the Negro musical ear. 





CHAPTER VIII. 

A Disturbed Siesta. 

“Oh happy state! when souls each other draw, 

When love is liberty, and nature is law: 

All then is full, possessing and possessed, 

No craving void left aching in the breast: 

Ev’n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, 

And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.” 

— Elaisa to Abelard — Pope. 

After dinner, Julia and her lover returned to the col- 
lege. Uncle Zeke went to “de turnin’ out of de lodge,” 
and I went to see his niece. Mom Kitty announced her 
determination to stay and go from our house to preach- 
ing at her church just two blocks away. 

When I returned from seeing Zeke’s niece, I found 
Mom and Belle deep in the mystery of flowers in the 
front yard. 

I had been up the night before, and expected to be up 
the coming night. Consequently, I said: “Mom Kitty, 
I’m almost dead for sleep. Let Belle entertain you, won’t 
you, and excuse me to see if I can’t get a nap?” 

“What you wastin’ yo’ brath axin’ me dat fo’, son? 
Cose I’ll ’xcuse you. Go on, boy, an’ res’ yo’sef. I won- 
der you ain’t broke down ’fo’ now.” 

Our house of six rooms had a square front hall on 
both floors. The downstairs hall we used as a summer 


5i 


52 


THE CLIMBERS 


sitting room. In the one upstairs, Belle had her machine 
and a large, comfortable lounge. I threw myself down 
on this and was soon fast asleep. The reason I “ain’t 
broke down ’fo’ now” is, I can go to sleep for fifteen or 
twenty minutes and wake up as refreshed as if I had slept 
for hours. 

I don’t know how long I had been asleep when the 
voices of Mom Kitty and my wife awoke me. They were 
in the lower hall. I only know I was perfectly refreshed. 
I could hear every word they said; for from the way 
they talked I presume Belle thought I was in our room 
resting. I looked down over the banister and saw my 
wife and the old lady, side by side on the little sofa. 

“Yas, honey, I was mighty ’fraid you was gwine to 
marry de docta, still a-lovin’ Dan Neal, like Jinnie Cross 
married Ira Lewis still a-lovin’ my nephew, Dallas Leon- 
ard. But I see yo’ love yo’ husban’.” 

“Love him! Mom Kitty, I just wonder and wonder 
how I ever could have been wrapped up in Dan Neal!” 

I felt that I ought to be somewhere else; but I 
couldn’t move without betraying the fact that I had 
already overheard them ; so I saw nothing left for me to 
do but to keep quiet. 

“Gals sometimes fool themselves an’ marry somebody 
dey don’t love ’cause dey can’t get dem dey do love ; but 
any gal dat does dat will suffer jes like Jinnie Cross did. 
Poo’ thing! How she did suffer!” 

“How was that, Mom Kitty? I never heard about 
her.” 

“Hit’s a long story, my chile. Do you want to hear 
it?” 

“Yes, maam ; tell me about it, since you think her case 
resembles mine.” 


A DISTURBED SIESTA 


53 


“No, honey; ’tain’t like youn; but like youn mought 
have been. Let me tell you ’bout Jinnie.” 

I knew Mom Kitty’s power of graphic narrative ; and 
as I had been refreshed, I took out my note-book and 
took down in shorthand the story as she told Belle as 
nearly as I could in her own language. It is to be borne 
in mind, however, that no putting of Mom Kitty’s story 
in cold type could do justice to her wonderful telling of 
it out of the wealth of her love and experience, and in 
her marvelous voice. 




























































































































CHAPTER IX. 

Jennie Cross’ Story. 

“Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman; 

Tho’ they may gang a kennin wrang 
To step aside is human.” 

— Burns. 

“Jinnie Cross' mother’s name was Marthy Ann. Jin- 
nie’s father was one of de Normans, and you know dey 
has always been some of de bigges’ white folks in town. 
Her daddy got kilt in de fust year of de war. Arter de 
war Marthy sent de little thing North to her half broth- 
er’s wife whar Jinnie staid till she was eighteen. Den 
a white woman wanted to take Jinnie to Europe as lady’s 
maid, but Marthy wouldn’t let Jinnie go, ’fraid her chile 
would git off somewhere an’ forgit all ’bout her mammy ; 
so she had Jinnie to come home to Rockford. 

“1 neva sot eyes on a purtier gal dan Marthy Ann 
Cross was de time she tuk up wid young Tom Norman. 
You know Belle, befo’ de wah, lots o’ good lookin’ free 
culled women lived wid white men, an’ nuthin’ wa’n’t 
thought of it nuther. Dem women was de ’ristocrats in 
dem days, ’cause most of de white men was de riches’ 
men in town. De wah has done changed all dat, you 
know.” 


55 


56 


THE CLIMBERS 


“Yes,” replied Belle, “and it’s a blessed thing that it 
has!” 

“Yas, chile, I think so, too; fo’ in dem days a nice 
lookin’ free gal like yo’ looked forward to dat as de mos’ 
natural thing in de worl’.” 

“ Yes, Mom Kitty; and I believe there are just lots of 
white men who are mad because good looking colored 
girls nowadays want to be decent. But I am interrupt- 
ing your story.” 

“As I was sayin’, when Marthy took up wid Norman 
she was a little plump thing jes like you, Belle. She 
had dese meltin’ brown eyes, an’ dis creamy skin, an’ dis 
kind o’ wavy hair dat looks dark ’cept when de sun’s on 
it; den it looks gold. When Jinnie come home at eigh- 
teen she was de very spit of her mammy when Marthy 
took up wid dat white man. 

“To be young, an’ so purty, Jinnie, was mighty mis’- 
r’ble. Poo’ thing! She had ’nough to make her mis’- 
r’ble. Fust thing was she had been engaged to my 
nephew, Dallas Leonard, who was a lawyer in de South- 
west. He won a big case, an’ de white lawyers he won 
it over got so mad dat dey picked a fuss wid him, an’ in 
de fight shot him. 

“Nothin’ was done wid ’em. Jennie was mighty mis’- 
r’ble, poo’ thing! 

“Next thing to make her mis’r’ble was, dat when she 
she come home, she foun’ her mammy married to Jim 
Gains, a mighty good lookin’ yaller man, but mean an’ 
coarse. Jinnie come cryin’ to me, an’ tellin’ me dat Jim 
Gains had done gin it out dat he didn’t want no white 
man’s chile in his home. Him an’ Marthy had it hot an’ 
heavy ’bout Jinnie! 

“Soon arter dat Marthy died. ’Cose Jinnie didn’t 


JENNIE CROSS’ STORY 


57 


want to stay at his house even befo’ her mammy died; 
you know she wa’n’t gwine to stay when her mammy was 
gone, though ole Jim was willin' fo’ her to stay den — de 
ole rascal!” 

“I know what you mean !” said Belle. 

“Jinnie hadn’t been in Rockford but little over a year 
when I heerd she was engaged to Ira Lewis, a steady, 
good man, runner fo’ de fust National Bank, whar he’d 
been fo’ years an’ years. Dey thought nobody was like 
him ; an’ dey would have trusted him wid any amount o’ 
money to take it to de tother side of de worl’. 

“Now, I knowed how she felt towards Dallas ; so one 
day she was at my house ; I says to her, says I, ‘How is 
it, Jinnie, you’s gwine to marry Ira Lewis?’ 

“Den she ups an’ tells me all her troubles. She says, 
says she, ‘Mom Kitty, you know since mamma died, I’ve 
sewin’ round in big white folks’ families. I make good 
money, an’ de women treat me all right; an’ de men, 
too — dat’s it, Mom Kitty, de men is too nice. You know 
what my mother did; an’, Mom Kitty, I’m just ’fraid; 
so I’m goin’ to get married, an’ have a home of my own.’ 

“ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘you don’t make ’tend to love Ira, 
den?’ 

“ ‘Mom,’ she said, an’ two tears jumped up in her 
sweet eyes, ‘de man I love is in his grave !’ ” 

I felt my own throat grow tight at this and I looked 
over the banisters and saw that Belle was using her 
handkerchief. 

“‘ Honey,’ says I, ‘you oughtn’t to marry dat man jes 
to git a home, an’ a protector ; you oughtn’t to marry Ira 
ef you don’t love him.’ ” 

“She said, says she, ‘Mom Kitty, I love Ira as much 
as I’m evah gwine to love any man ’cept Dallas.’ 


THE CLIMBERS 


58 

“I argued an’ argued wid her, but I couldn’t convince 
her; so she an’ Ira got married. He wasn’t a bad look- 
in’ man; but honey, he was one mo’ black man! Jinnie 
felt so bad ’bout not havin’ no lawful father dat she tried 
to git away fum herse’f by marryin’ a black man. De 
blacker he was de better she was pleased. She said to 
me: T wish I was as black as he is! Den dese white 
Satans wouldn’t be followin’ me wid dey eyes evah time 
I got on de street. Some of ’em can look at a good lookin’ 
cullud gal in sech a way as to make you want to cuss.’ 

“Well, Jennie’s marriage turned out jes like I ’xpected. 
Ira was dat proud of her! He jes thought everything 
she done was jes right. He encouraged her to go out 
wid young men same as ef she wa’n’t married. Ira 
Lewis was a good man — an’ de greatest man fuh lodge 
an’ church you evah saw! 

“Every blessed night of de week dat man would be 
gone to some society er religious meetin’; fuh he was a 
big deycon in de church, a big Odd Fellow, a big Mason ; 
in fact, a big evahthing he could jine. I nevah seed sich 
a jiner in all my bo’n days! He encouraged Jinnie to 
have a house full of young folks to keep her company 
’cause she wa’n’t no church member ; so when Ira would 
be gone to church meetin’s, prayer meetin’s, lodge meet- 
in’s an’ things, Jinnie would be at home wid a house full 
o’- gals an’ boys, havin’ a high ole time, or else gone wid 
some young man to a party or to de theater. 

“Ira nevah stopped to think dat he ought to give mo’ 
of his time to his wife; ’cause, sides bein’ a sinna, she 
wa’n’t nothin’ but a chile in age to him. 

“Things went on dis way fo’ a good while. By ’n by, 
one night at a festival I overheerd Jack Baxter an’ some 
mo’ boys talkin’ ’bout Jinnie. I knowed fum what Jack 


JENNIE CROSS’ STORY 


59 


said, dat he was in love wid her. He was a good lookin’ 
young man, of good family, an’ mighty well-to-do in de 
fish an’ oyster business; but he was a sinna like Jinnie, 
an’ a little wild. 

“De next week I went to Jinnie’s house one night to 
talk to her ’bout a dress I wanted her to make fo’ me. I 
foun’ her an’ Jack sittin’ up together alone — Ira gone, as 
usual. I knowed dey was dead in love wid each other 
time I laid eyes on ’em. I went to see her ’bout de dress 
de next day, an’ foun’ her alone. ’Cause she didn’t have 
no mammy I tuk it on mysef to take her to task ’bout 
Jack. But she cried, an’ kicked up an’ went on scan’- 
lous. She ’dared befo’ Gawd she wa’n’t studyin’ ’bout 
Jack ! She didn’t love nobody but her Ira, de bes’ husban’ 
dat evah drawed breath! 

“Dat was in February. De fou’th Sunday in March 
our church had a big baptisin’ in de pond in de park. It 
was so cold dey had to break de ice. De docta tole Ira 
he wa’n’t strong ’nough to stan’ gwine in de ice-water, 
an’ fo’ him not to go in wid de candidates ; but he was a 
big deycon, an’ he ’lowed dat ef he went down in de wata 
in faith, Gawd wa’n’t gwine to let his faithful chile ketch 
cold ; so he went in. 

“De Wednesday night follerin’, Jack Baxter took Jin- 
nie to de theater. Dey met Jeta Horn drunk when dey 
was cornin’ back, an’ he ’gun to jaw arter ’em an’ say 
Jack was in love wid Jinnie, an’ dat he was gwine to tell 
Ira. Ole Jeta lived next door to Ira; he wa’n’t so low 
down as he is now. 

“Sam Young, the hackman, boarded at my house. 
Thursday night, fo’ a wonder, Ira Lewis didn’t go to no 
meetin’, but come home early, an’ sot aroun’ sort o’ quiet. 
I happened to be dah when he come. So was Jack Bax- 


6o 


THE CLIMBERS 


ter, to take Jinnie to a party at Palmer's. Ira was 
mighty sullen an’ quiet. I seed dat Jack an' Jinnie was 
scart. Dey thought ole Jeta had been talkin' to Ira. 
Guilty conscience don’t need no accuser. Jinnie was 
might oneasy. She axed Ira what was de matta wid 
him. He sed : ‘Nuthin’. When she axed must she break 
her engagement to go out wid Jack, he answered sort o' 
short: ‘Cose not!’ an' 'xcused hi'se'f an' went to bed. 

“I seed things was gittin' billious, so I bid 'em good- 
night an' started home. 

“But I forgot my reticule dat had some money in it. 
I stepped back to get it. De outer hall doo' was un- 
locked; when I stepped inside an' was about to knock at 
de inner doo’, my hand was jes' paralyzed in de act of 
knockin' by overhearin' Jack pleadin' wid Jinnie to take 
de nine o’clock train an’ run off wid him, 'cause Ira had 
done foun' 'em out! 

“He said he had one hundred dollars in his pocket, 
when she objected 'bout money. 

“He had collected de money to deposit in de bank. 
Then she objected 'bout bein' stopped; an' he said all 
they had to do was to git Sam Young to drive by de 
depot, git out, an' tell him they would walk to de party 
at Palmer’s. 

“Den she consented. She was already dressed fo' de 
party, an' I got out o' dat house an' fairly flew home!” 

“Why didn’t you call Ira?” asked Belle. 

“ 'Cause I didn’t believe Ira knowed dey was in love, 
an’ I wanted to stop 'em fum runnin' away widout let- 
tin’ him know anything ’bout it.” 

“Oh, I see,” said Belle. 

“So I wanted to see Sam Young befo’ he started out 
to git ’em to take ’em to de party, an' git him to bring 


JENNIE CROSS’ STORY 


61 


’em all unbeknown to my house, so dat dey would miss 
de nine o’clock train, de only one out of Rockford till 
next day.” 

“Oh, yes, I see your plan,” said Belle. 

“Well, when I got home a-puffin’ an’ a-blowin’ Sam 
had on his overcoat, jes gwine out. I says, 'Sam,’ says 
I, 'whar you gwine?’ ‘I’m gwine to git Jack Baxter an’ 
Mrs. Lewis to take ’em over to Palmer’s ; dey is havin’ a 
big party to-night.’ 

“ 'Sam,’ says I, ‘I want you to bring ’em by here fust ; 
I’m got some business wid ’em.’ 

“I had my orders to have ’em at Henry Palmer’s 
house by nine o’clock; an’ its fifteen minutes arter eight 
now; so I’ll not have time to bring ’em ’roun’ here. 

“ 'Sam,’ says I (gittin’ desp’rate), 'I mus’ see dem 
folks befo’ dey go to de party! I’ll give you a dollar ef 
you’ll bring em by here!” 

“He said : ‘I wouldn’t do it ef you gin me ten !’ 

“Sam was one o’ dese hard-headed niggas wid jes 
sense ’nough to be muleish ; I knowed he wouldn’t do it 
ef he said he wa’n’t gwine to do it. 

“I was strong in dem days, an’ Sam was nothin’ but 
a little thin runt of a man. He got my nigga up ; an’ so 
I backed myse’f up agin’ de doo’ an’ sed to him : 'Ef you 
don’t do what I want you to, you sha’n’t go out dis 
house !’ 

“Den he started to try to get out of de winder. I 
went to him, I did, an’ cotch him by de shoulder to hold 
him, but I couldn’t hold him handy dat way, so I flung 
him down on de floo’ an’ sot on him. He kicked! He 
squirmed, but it wa’n’t no use, ’cause I was heavy an’ 
strong in dem days. I helt him down until I knowed 
he’d make ’em miss de train ; then I let him git up.” 


THE CLIMBERS 


£2 


I came near betraying myself with laughter when I 
looked over the banister and saw the old lady in great 
glee showing Belle how she “sot on Sam.” Belle was 
convulsed, too. 

“When Sam had gone, I struck out, full tilt, fo’ de 
depot. I foun’ Jinnie an’ Jack there. Dey had walked, 
but had missed de train! 

“Den I lit into ’em ’bout deir foolishness. Dey owned 
up everything an’ cried like babies ; fo’ dey sho’ did love 
fit to kill ! 

“I got Jack to take Jinnie back home jes like as ef 
dey had been to de party. Next day Jack left town. 

“I spent all day wid Jinnie; an’ neva in all my bo’n 
days had I seen anybody so broke up as she was! — all 
tore to pieces twixt love fo’ Jack an’ remorse fo’ tryin’ to 
run away fum her husban’.” 

“Poor thing!” put in Belle. 

“Ira didn’t come home to no dinna. Dat made her 
worse! She cried an’ prayed fo’ forgiveness all day. 
Dat night when Ira come home (she an’ him neva slept 
together), he went on to bed an’ didn’t say nothin’ t’ all 
to her. She prayed all dat night, an’ befo’ mornin’ she 
got converted. 

“Next mornin’ she went to Ira’s room gwine to con- 
fess everything to him, but she foun’ him out of his head 
wid fever. He was gittin’ de pneumonia fum gwine in 
de ice-water at de baptisin’ was de reason he acted in de 
way dat like to scart Jack an’ Jinnie out o’ dey senses. 

“Well, poo’ Ira died of pneumonia, an’ he neva did 
know Jinnie an’ Jack was lovin’ !” 

“It was a blessed thing he didn’t” said Belle. 

“Yas, indeed, it was. Gawd was mighty good to Jin- 
nie, anyhow, fo’ Jack didn’t come back till Ira had been 


JENNIE CROSS’ STORY 


63 


dead a year. Den fo’ a long while Jinnie wouldn’t notice 
him ’cause she felt so bad ’bout tryin’ to run away. Dis 
broke Jack up so dat he, too, got religion. 

“Arter two years dey got married, an’ dey are very 
happy up North now.” 

“Poor thing!” said Belle, after a thoughtful pause; 
“a guilty conscience and old Jeter Horn’s drunken tongue 
made her take a very foolish step. How she did suffer!” 

“Yas, Belle, ef she had been a low-down gal, she 
wouldn’t have suffered so; but she wanted to do right.” 

“You certainly did a good part by them, Mom Kitty.” 

“An’ her an’ Jack loves me to dis day; dey is alius 
sendin’ me something nice.” 

“I’m thankful, so thankful,” murmured Belle, “that I 
haven’t a particle of interest in Dan Neal now. I love 
Dr. Wade as Jennie loves Jack.” 

“I b’lieve you do, honey, an’ I’m mighty glad; fo’ ef 
a gal marries widout love, an’ den wakes up to fin’ herse’f 
in love, but not wid her husban’ — well, all I’ve got to 
say is dat sich a gal don’t need nobody to tell her what 
hell’s like; she knows!” 

The two women were disturbed at this juncture by 
some one calling for me. When I went into my office, 
Belle clung to my arm with a tender light in her sweet 
eyes. She seemed surprised at the warmth of my good- 
bye caress. 

Mom Kitty had gone when I returned from my visit. 
I took Belle in my arms and read some of my shorthand 
notes. Then she understood the warmth of my good- 
bye kiss. I said: “Eavesdroppers do not usually hear 
any good of themselves ; I’ve been an exception.” 

It is not necessary to give her reply. Mom Kitty’s 
story made us very grateful for our happy love. 












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BOOK THREE 

Our Echoes Roll From Soul to Soul.” 

“Our echoes roll from soul to soul 
And grow forever and forever. 

Blow, bugle blow, set the wild echoes flying.” 

— Tennyson. 


CHAPTER X. 


“Dat Boy.” 


“He 

Allured to brighter worlds and led the way.” 

— The Deserted Village — Goldsmith. 

President F. R. Dale used to say: “Young gentlemen, 
no man can preach the Gospel with any more force than 
the power with which he lives it; for what the preacher 
is, counts for more than what he knows or says.” 

He was an illustration of his own saying. His face 
shone and he knew it not. He has, by reason of his 
character, been dominant in my life since I left school. 
In all these years, whenever Fve been tempted to do that 
which is unworthy, I have seemed to feel that good man’s 
hand on my shoulder holding me back, while I’ve seemed 
to hear his kind voice asking: “Why will you do that, 
sir?” I bless God that I ever knew Dr. Dale! 

My pastor, Rev. Robert N. Wilson, seemed to me to 
be another illustration of the truth of Dr. Dale’s saying. 

He was an eloquent speaker, deep thinker and a wide 
scholar; but it was Wilson, the man, that drew people. 
So simple, sympathetic and earnest was he that although 
ours was a denomination new among Rockford colored 
people, and our house of worship, one of the least attrac- 
tive in town, nevertheless our church, in the face of most 

67 


68 


THE CLIMBERS 


strenuous opposition, grew in numbers and power for 
good. 

One of the most valuable additions to our church was 
Henry Blake, mentioned some pages back as one of 
Julia’s admirers, a young lawyer that settled in Rockford 
about the time I did. He was a dapper, handsome fel- 
low about Julia’s color, that of a pecan — a man of fine 
talents and training. 

He had been induced to hang out his shingle in the 
city of my adoption by Isaac Scattergood, a Quaker in 
whose family in the North, Blake had been brought up, 
Friend Scattergood was a finely proportioned, portly 
man, probably fifty, yet unmarried, who had gone South 
for his health, and who, just outside of town, conducted 
a large truck farm. Because Blake had joined our 
church, quite a friendship had sprung up between us and 
the kind hearted Friend — especially between him 
and myself; for he thought I had been of great use to 
him in securing for him an excellent truck farmer in John 
Hill, and a first-class housekeeper in Judah Hill, his 
wife, two people about the age of their employer. 

Blake had gone into partnership with Gideon Gray- 
son, a lawyer who had been in Rockford for years. The 
law firm of Grayson and Blake, however, did more busi- 
ness in three months than Grayson alone had done in as 
many years ; for while Grayson was an intelligent, well- 
educated man and a good lawyer, he had been coquetting 
with politics — the bane of the Negro lawyer. Blake 
practiced law and let politics alone, while Grayson prac- 
ticed politics and let law alone. 

Grayson, a great, black, masterful six-footer, belonged 
to Rev. Walter Granville’s church, one of the largest in 
town. The lawyer and the preacher were such good 


DAT BOY’ 


69 


friends and so much alike in appearance, they were 
spoken of as Grayson and Granville, the Law and the 
Gospel. Granville was practically a new man in Rock- 
ford: he was there three years before Wilson. Natu- 
rally, he and Wilson, both young men and new in town, 
were compared. Soon it began to be said : “ 'Saul’ Gran- 
ville has slain his thousands, but ‘David’ Wilson his tens 
thousands. This opinion may explain why our church 
and its gifted pastor were often abused, even from the 
pulpit. 

Wilson, be it said, was not Granville’s superior in 
natural ability; my pastor was the other minister’s supe- 
rior in culture and piety alone; for Granville had only a 
smattering of training. How different a man he would 
have been under the influence that moulded Wilson. As 
it was, Granville was bombastic, not cultured; uppish, 
not dignified ; sanctimonious, not pious ; but worst of all, 
morally he was a rotten fish. Yet, he had one of the 
largest churches in town. How often does it happen 
that the Negro preacher with the largest following is not, 
by reason of lack of training and good character, morally 
uplifting his followers. 

We lost a faithful member, a pillar, you may say, the 
Christmas before Belle and I were married; John Davis 
was his name. I attended him and therefore often met 
Wilson at his house. He was a consumptive. And how 
the old man did lean on Wilson! If the preacher did 
not arrive at the usual hour of his daily visit to the sick, 
it was pitiful to hear the old man say: “I wish dat boy 
would come!” 

To me it was a beautiful sight to see how helpless 
Wilson felt in that sick-room, and yet to see that he was 
so perfect a comforter because he so felt. I used to think 


70 


THE CLIMBERS 


to myself, “It is sympathy that makes the minister, that 
is a good man, a king over hearts.” 

Christmas eve night the Sunday School teachers pre- 
pared the Christmas tree, for we were to have Christmas 
tree exercises Christmas night. After we got through 
dressing the tree, a party of us, including Wilson, Fair- 
fax, Julia, Belle and myself, went to cheer the sick man, 
taking along gifts of necessaries. 

Before we left, Wilson prayed. As we arose to go, 
the old man said in tremulous tones : “Chillun, ef I don’t 
see you all no mo’ I want you all to know I ain’t got a 
doubt nor a fear. I bin follerin’ Him nigh on forty 
yeahs an’ I ain’t got a doubt nor a fear. Don’t be s’prised 
ef you come back arter Christmas an’ I ain’t heah; but 
Gawd done gin me a Chrismsa gif’ !” 

Sure enough he got his “Christmas gif’.” He died 
Christmas morning. 

In April of that year we lost another member, Sister 
Myra Jenkins, a widow all whose children were dead. 
She was a tall, angular, black woman of great piety and 
force of character. When Wilson once preached on 
“Heavenly Recognition,” after the sermon, with tears of 
joy glistening in her eyes, she said: “I’m jes waitin’ to 
go to my chillun. Oh, I’m so happy! Gawd sent Brer 
Wilson heah — nobody but Gawd sent dat boy heah to 
preach de Gospel !” 

When she got down on her dying bed, Wilson declared 
that his daily visits to her were a benediction to him. 

Quite a contrast in their effect were his visits to Jeter 
Horn who, just across the street from Sister Myra Jen- 
kins, was on what was thought to be his dying bed. Wil- 
son read and talked to him and prayed with him; but 
though Jeter had once been a church-member he seemed 


DAT BOY’ 


7 1 


to be overwhelmed at the thought of death. He did not 
die, however; but as he expressed it, “I is still alive, 
walkin’ ’bout dis ole Rockford, eatin’ ma co’n bread an’ 
herrin’s an’ drinkin’ ma whiskey.” 

At Sister Myra’s funeral, there was a mighty out- 
pouring of people. Wilson surpassed himself that day. 
One of the deceased’s lifelong friends said: “Dat little 
man whar done come heah an’ got up a church — dat 
man’s a wonda to me when he gits in de pulpit. Hit 
looks to me somethin’ comes over him when he gits on 
his high hoss in de pulpit ; he ain’t like de same man you 
laugh an’ talk wid ev’ry day.” 

The old lady expressed just what I feel about Wil- 
son. When he was at his best, a subtle change came 
over him, putting an immense distance between me and 
him — classmates though we were — and making my inti- 
mate friend so to tower above me as that I could not but 
reverence him. 

One Sabbath mornin, as we Norwalkers’ still under 
the spell of one of Wilson’s most soul-moving sermons, 
were returning home from church, Holt evidently voiced 
the feelings of us all when he said to me: “Wade, I tell 
you what it is: at his best, Wilson certainly has the 
power of the Spirit on him as men of old had!” 




CHAPTER XI. 

In The City of the Dead. 

“He is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest, 

Like a summer-dried fountain 
When our need was the sorest. 

The font, reappearing, 

From the rain-drops shall borrow, 

But to us comes no cheering, 

To Duncan no morrow!” 

— Scott — Lady of the Lake. 

Rockford’s decoration day was the next week after 
Mom Kitty told Belle about Jennie Cross’ mistake in 
marrying a man she did not love because the man she 
did was dead. A large part of Rockford was in the ceme- 
tery; the white people to decorate the graves of their 
loved and lost; the colored folks to see and be seen, and 
to be going somewhere. And strange to say, for those 
who marched to the cemetery to decorate the graves of 
heroes who died fighting to uphold slavery — strange to 
say, a Negro band furnished the music! 

All of us Norwalkers went to the cemetery as beau- 
tiful as a garden of gods. Fairfax and Julia were there 
dreaming poetry in their sweet love, and Belle and I 
were there walking on air in our new wedded bliss. 
Without one how beautiful the world looks, when, within 
one, there is a world of love! 

73 


74 


THE CLIMBERS 


The speechmaking did not come off until afternoon ; 
that’s why we Norwalkers were not out, except to hear 
that. But now even the lovely afternoon had waned 
until the sun hung a lurid ball just above the hazy hori- 
zon. Love had placed its flowers and dropped its remi- 
niscent tears on the graves above the dust of warriors, it 
is true, brave and sincere, but warriors whose success 
would have riveted the galling chains of bondage on 
their brothers in black. The placid air had been filled 
with the rattle of musketry, the thunder of cannon, the 
throb of music and the thrill of fervid oratory uttered to 
justify the “lost cause.” The salutes, the music, the 
speeches — we heard them all ; and along with the crowd 
that choked the streets, we of the Norwalk coterie, in 
consequence of what we had heard, were leaving the 
cemetery understanding better than when we went into 
this city of the dead — understanding and sympathizing 
a trifle more with the feelings of the people represented 
by the gray — a brave, proud people upon whom, by the 
stern arbitrament of the sword, had been thrust a mighty 
revolution. And it is but simple justice to add that, how- 
ever much there may be to be deplored in the South’s 
treatment of the Negro, yet it nevertheless remains true 
that history does not show a case where the proud and 
imperious master class have treated the helpless freed- 
men better than Ham has been treated by Japhet in Dixie. 

Julia, Fairfax, President and Mrs. Holt had come out 
in a public carriage. For this they were now waiting 
comfortably seated near an old ivy-mantled church ruin, 
which ancient pile the city sought to preserve as a relic. 

Wilson, Belle and myself were waiting with the Holts 
to keep them company. In his snuff-colored broadcloth 
Sunday suit, Zeke Brown came to us. He had before 


IN THE CITY OF THE DEAD 


75 


spoken to us. Whenever we came to the park which 
adjoined the cemetery, he made it a point to have some- 
thing to say. He had -taken quite a fancy to us all; but 
he seemed especially drawn to Fairfax. At such times as 
we visited the park, Zeke liked nothing better than to 
entertain us with present-day gossip and past-day his- 
tory of Rockford folks, white and black, high and low. 
He seemed to have an exhaustless fund of such stories, 
and he was a most capital story teller. He talked all the 
more freely to us, because he, no doubt, felt flattered that 
we set so high a value on his tales. 

While we were waiting for the Holts’ carriage, he 
told us a characteristic one, yet different from the others 
he had told us, in that it was about himself. This is the 
way he came to tell the story about himself. 

After having greeted us, and chatted awhile about the 
day’s doings, Zeke said to the young preacher: “Elda 
Wilson, I promised you a while ago dat I was cornin’ 
up to yo’ chu’ch dis cornin’ Sunday. I seed Elda Gran- 
ville sence dat, an’ he ’minded me dat hit’s communion 
at our chu’ch, so I can’t come.” 

“All right, Brother Brown; when will you come?” 
said Wilson. 

“I dunno zackly; but ’fo’ long; ’cause I does dearly 
love to heah you preach!” Said Holt, with a twinkle: 
“If you like so well to heah him preach, why don’t you 
join his church? He might give you the office of carry- 
ing around the bread and wine.” 

This last was said with a broad smile. 

“Dat wouldn’t be no honey to draw me to you all’s 
chu’ch,” replied he in Holt’s own jocular vein, “ ’cause I 
done had dat office an’ lost it. I done been a deycon in 
our chu’ch.” 


76 


THE CLIMBERS 


“Been a deacon in your church ?” asked Mrs. Holt in 
genuine surprise. 

“Yas maam; an’ lost it.” 

Mrs. Holt looked at the old man inquiringly. 

“Yas, maam; done been a deycon an’ lost it!” replied 
he to the query in her look, a droll challenge in his voice 
for her to ask him why he had lost it. 

“You must have done something terrible,” she an- 
swered in his own mock, serious vein. 

“No maam, I didn’t nuther; I don’t think you’d say 
so ef you knowed.” 

Zeke and Fairfax were on the best of terms, the 
younger man always joking with the older by getting off 
some high-flown nonsense. So Fairfax broke out in 
grandiloquent terms, a twinkle in his eyes : “How long! 
O how long, O Ezekiel, thou prophet, the son of thy 
mother — how long wilt thou make thy servants to hang 
by the eyebrows? Lift up thy voice, O thou seer most 
mighty, and vouchsafe an elucidation of the peculiar 
peccancy leading to an ecclesiastical catastrophe so egre- 
giously calamitous as thy demission from the lofty, sacred 
diaconate of thy church!” 

Amused were we all at this outburst of nonsense 
delivered in sententious tones of inimitable drollery, as 
well as at Zeke, who, with his hands clapped to either 
side and his eyes rolled up as if in great agony, gasped : 
“Wait! Wait till I ketch my breath! De ’Fessa done 
chawed up de whole dictionary an’ spit it at me so hard, 
he done knocked all de win’ outen me !” 

Julia, with a look on her pretty face of amusement, 
disgust and fondness, exclaimed : “I declare, Gus ! if you 
and old Jeter were put in the same bag, I don’t know 
which would get out first!” 


IN THE CITY OF THE DEAD 


77 


“Jeta an’ de ’Fessa in de same bag, Miss Jule? Ole 
Jeta is de man dat knocked me outen my deconry — de 
no count ole nigga! But he’s now gone into a bag he 
won’t git out of soon, I bet !” 

“What do you mean?” asked Mrs. Holt. 

“Didn’t you see in this morning’s paper that he has 
been sent to the poor-house?” asked Holt. 

“No, I didn’t read the paper this morning,” answered 
the wife. 

“Neither did I,” put in Julia, her sweet eyes apologiz- 
ingly in her lover’s for what she had said of his remind- 
ing her disagreeably of the worthless Jeter. 

Wilson took out of his pocket the daily Morning 
News and read to the company the following item : “The 
News, for years, with all Rockford, has laughed at Jeter 
Horn’s tipsy, high-flown nonsense. More recently, how- 
ever, we have seen a change in him which has made us 
feel that the funny old darkey ought not to be allowed 
at large when he is drunk. The drinking of years has at 
last borne its fruitage ; the snakes are after the old coon, 
and our fears have been confirmed. Night before last 
he almost frightened to death some ladies that met him 
rampaging down North street like a chimpanzee; and, in 
consequence, the old sot was locked up. But he has the 
jim-jams so bad that the poor-house is thought to be the 
place for him ; he will be detained there so that he can’t 
get drunk and frighten ladies.” 

“I boun’ he won’t trouble nobody no more,” said 
Zeke. 

“And you say he knocked you out of the diaconate?” 
asked Holt. 

“Dat’s what he done!” he replied. Then ensued his 
funny, tender tale of how he lost his “deyconry.” 



* 








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i i 









CHAPTER XII. 

How Zeke Brown Lost His Diaconate. 

5 ; . 

“True love is but a humble- low-born thing 
And hath its food served up in earthen ware.” 

— Lowell. 

He had been separated from his wife by his master, 
who, moving to Louisiana, took Zeke with him. 

This was before the war. After the surrender, he 
came back to Rockford and was made a “deycon in de 
Fust chu’ch.” 

“Dat same yeah Jeter came back, ma’ied to my wife 
Liza. Jeter belonged to Dr. Warren Pogue. Liza belonged 
to my ole Marsta’s darter, Miss Ethel Kirk. When she 
got ma’ied to Dr. Pogue, she wouldn’t give up Liza, an’ 
ole man Kirk moved ’way. Dat’s how come me to be 
separated from Liza, an’ dat’s how come she was ma’ied 
to ole Jeta, who was Dr. Pogue’s body servant; an’ he 
tuk Jeta wid him in de army. 

“ ’Fessa Fairfax, dah is something ’bout you dat 
’minds me of Liza; dat’s how come I to like you so. I 
heerd dat Jeta an’ Liza had a gal dat got los’.” 

“I’m thankful that you like me, prophet, and that I 
am not a girl. If I were a woman, you see, I couldn’t 
like the gentle creatures so!” 

This he said, looking mischievously at Julia. 

79 


8o 


THE CLIMBERS 


“I heard a lady say the other day, when some one 
complimented her, “I thank you for your encourage- 
ment, and I ” 

“Oh, Gus! stop talking!” interrupted Julia, looking 
at him. 

“Go on, Brother Brown,” said Wilson. 

“Yas, Elda, de Tessa sholy is like my Liza. When 
she come back, hit nigh 'bout broke my hea’t to see Jeta 
wid her, an' she so nice an’ ladyfied !” 

“Well, now, why didn’t you two get together?” asked 
Holt. 

“ ’Cause, ’cause,” hesitated he abashed, “she an’ Jeta 
had got ma’ied arter de wah again wid papers out o’ de 
cote house, an’ me an’ Liza didn’t have nuthin’ like dat 
when we ma’ied.” 

The old man stopped under stress of feeling, while 
among his listeners there was the blowing of noses and 
wiping of eyes. 

“Wheneva Liza come to chu’ch,” he resumed in sub- 
dued mood, “all indurin’ de preachin’ she’d set wid her 
jaw in her little han’ an’ cry — not loud, but soft, to her- 
se’f, an’ every once in awhile look up at me whar I set 
near de pulpit in my deycon’s cheer. She did look so 
pleadin’ !” 

Again a pause of deep feeling. Continued he, sure of 
our sympathy : “I could o’ stood her cryin’ in chu’ch an’ 
her pleadin’ looks; but I kept o’ hearin’ dat when Jeta 
was in licor, he mistreated her. Hit ’peared like to me 
fire was in my bones! 

“I jes couldn’t rest day nor night fum thinkin’ ’bout 
Jeta mistreatin’ Liza, an’ she sich a lady!” 

“By ’n by, one communion Sunday, Liza cried so, I 


HOW ZEKE BROWN LOST HIS DIACONATE 81 


come mighty nigh drappin’ de blessed yelements I was 
totin’ ’roun’!” 

There was a suppressed titter at this. Zeke himself 
grinned. 

“When chu’ch was out, Br’er Deycon Powell axed her 
whut was de matta wid her to make her cry so. Arter 
a long time, he drawed outen her dat ole Jeta, ’cause she 
wouldn’t give him her money she done wuked fo’ so he 
could buy licor, had done beat her dat mornin’ befo’ she 
come to chu’ch. 

“Chillun! when I heerd dat, my blood jes boiled! 
Br’er Powell he Towed de deycons had betta bring Liza’s 
case befo’ chu’ch meetin’ dat cornin’ Monday night, to 
see couldn’t she git a divo’ce away fum dat drunken hus- 
ban’, an’ git unda de protection o’ de man she loved. 

“My hea’t swelled at de very thought ef dat only 
could be! but I knowed it couldn’t be. I knowed dat 
nobody but ole Marse Kirk had joined me an’ her; but 
dat Jeta had ma’ied her wid papers out o’ de cote house, 
an’ dat a whiete minister had went through de cer’mony. 

“I didn’t wait fo’ no chu’ch meetin’, cause I didn’t put 
no ’pendence in no devo’ce doin’s. I went home, I did, 
an’ tuk off my Sunday clothes. I went upstairs an’ fotch 
down an ole cowhide dat used Tong to ole Tom Kirk dat 
used to be my marsta.” 

“What were you doing with the cowhide?” asked 
Wilson. 

“I jes kep’ it hangin’ up in a closet upstairs, so I could 
go up an’ look at it every onct an’ awhile, Elda, an’ bless 
Gawd, ’cause no man ain’t got no right to tie me up an’ 
whup me in dese days!” answered he, with unction. 

“Bless God for it !” added Holt with equal unction. 

“Well, I took de cowhide, I did, an’ went to Jeta’s 


82 


THE CLIMBERS 


house. As luck would have it, Liza wa’n’t dah; an’ I 
foun’ ole Jeta layin’ out under de shade in de back yard, 
jes drunk ’nough to be fighty an’ sassy. 

“But folks! I bet he wa’n’t sassy nor drunk neither 
time I got thue wid him! I jes natchely laid dat cow- 
hide on him good!” 

The old man seemed to be living the scene over again. 

“I’d lay it on awhile, den stop an’ talk to him ’bout 
his devilment wid Liza. I’d jes natchely burn him up 
again — he all de time talkin’ his pretty talk, a-pleadin’ 
same as any lawyer in de cote house! I tell you, I jes 
wo red dat ole nigga out! I bet his ole marsta, Dr. War- 
ren Pogue, neva gin him such a lickin’ !” 

We were all convulsed at his showing us how he “jes 
nachely laid dat cowhide on him good.” Zeke seemed to 
enjoy it all over again. 

“Well, my beatin’ ole Jeta made a mighty stir — hit 
bein’ jes arter I had done tote ’roun’ de bread an’ wine. 

“At de chu’ch meetin’ Monday night, ’stead o’ havin’ 
Liza’s case up, bless my soul dey had me up ! De bruth- 
ren an’ sisterin axed me wa’n’t I sorry dat, bein’ a dey- 
con, I had done fit, an’ dat, too, on communion Sunday? 

“I told ’em it might o’ ben wrong; but ‘Bruthren an’ 
sisterin,’ says I, ‘ef hit was wrong ’tain’t wuth while fo’ 
me to add to de wrong by tellin’ a lie. ’Tain’t wuth 
while fo’ me to say I is sorry; ’cause I ain’t!’ 

“Deep down in my hea’t I feels dat wid dat cowhide 
I’ve did a wuk o’ grace on Jeta. 

“‘Well,’ dey saed, ‘we’ll put Br’er Brown unda de 
sanction (censure) o’ de chu’ch to give him time to 
repent ; so dey sot me back in de chu’ch.’ ” 

“What do you mean by that?” asked Julia. 


HOW ZEKE BROWN LOST HIS DIACONATE 83 


“I mean, I was still a deycon, but didn't set in my 
cheer, but had to set back in de chu’ch.” 

“Oh, I see!” replied Mrs. Holt. 

“Well, how did it turn out about Eliza?” asked Belle 
with shining eyes. 

“Liza, poo' thing!” he added in choking voice, “died 
three weeks arter dat. Arter de funeral I met Jeta an' 
tole him, ef hit hadn't been fo’ his mistreatment, Liza 
would have been alive. 

“He 'lowed she was his wife an’ not mine, an’ dat I 
didn’t have no business chastisin' him 'bout her ; an' a lot 
mo' jaw like dat. An' I jes got my nigga up an' gin him 
another lickin’ ! He had me arrested ; an' though de cote 
didn't do nothin’, de thing made a mighty big stir. Den 
de chu’ch tuk my deconry away fum me. 

“But I didn't keer. I had de satisfaction o' heatin' 
dat no 'count nigga fo’ mistreatin’ de bes' 'oman dat evah 
drawed de breath o' life !” 

This was said with deep reverence. When the Holts’ 
carriage came up, we all bade the old man good-night 
with new respect and sympathy for his beautiful faith- 
fulness to his “Liza.” 























































































































































































































































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CHAPTER XIII. 

At The Gate Beautiful. 

“He Took Him By the Right Hand and Lifted Him Up.” — Acts 3:7. 

Tuesday had been Memorial day. In the afternoon 
of Friday that same week Rockford College commence- 
ment came off. 

Have you ever attended a commencement of a South- 
ern colored institution for higher learning? If you have, 
you do not need to be told of the large, well-dressed, self- 
respecting crowd that gathered to witness Rockford’s 
closing — the cream of the race in that region. The large, 
well-lighted audience hall on the second floor, capable of 
seating eight hundred, was packed. Twenty-five girl 
graduates, sweet in simple white, occupied a front bench 
on the left side of the assembly hall (left side to one on 
the platform). On the right side sat eleven young men 
graduates. The great crowd flowed behind and around 
the student body. On the boys’ side of the hall, at a 
right angle to the graduates, the school choir and piano 
faced the ladies of the faculty. 

The male members of the faculty were on the ros- 
trum, as also several “distinguished” men, Wilson among 
them. 

’Twas an enthusiastic, good-looking audience, as vari- 
ant in color as the frost-touched autumn foliage, ranging 

85 


86 


THE CLIMBERS 


from the black, with thick lips and grapy hair, to the 
white, with eyes of sky and locks of gold — quite a com- 
ment on the ante-bellum Southern gentleman's self-con- 
trol; yes, on that of Southern gentlemen; for it is the 
master class, not the so-called “poor, white trash," that 
have most mixed the people of African origin. 

The Harpers, Alma May Montague, Mrs. Harper’s 
sister, were over to commencement in a fine open public 
carriage. 

Zeke Brown said: “Dem folks had on some clothes, 
sho’ as you bo’n.” 

I hired a spanking new surrey for Belle and her 
mother, Mrs. Clay. I’ve said before that Belle was the 
image of her mother, who in her younger days was 
accounted one of the handsomest women in Rockford. 
Now, my ladies “had on some clothes," too ; and I don’t 
mind admitting that I was proud of them. 

Mrs. Holt had' provided seats with herself — it was 
where the president’s family usually sat — for Belle and 
her mother, while it was expected that I would play “dis- 
tinguished visitor” on the rostrum ; but Belle was towed 
off by Julia to a seat near the girl graduates (the view of 
Fairfax, who had charge of the singing, was better 
there) ; Mrs. Clay sat with the girls’ matron, Mrs. Ada 
Harmon, an old friend ; while I, refusing to be “big man 
on the rostrum,” plumped down beside Mrs. Holt; 
meanwhile the two vacant seats in front of us were, at 
Mrs. Holt’s invitation, taken by Mom Kitty and Isaac 
Scattergood’s handsome, vivacious, ripe pear-colored lit- 
tle housekeeper, Mrs. Juddy Hill, a popular lady who was 
always given her whole name, Juddy Hill. 

As Fairfax had charge of the music and both Wilson 
and Holt were on the rostrum, this failure of the pre- 


AT THE GATE BEAUTIFUL 


87 


arranged seating shut Mrs. Holt and myself off from the 
rest of our coterie. 

Somewhere else in this history I have said that Mrs. 
Holt was a handsome woman. She had what is better 
than mere good looks; that is, distinction. Tall and 
large, but not stout, with soft mixed gray hair that was 
glossy, of chestnut color and queenly bearing, she usu- 
ally made those meeting her feel like calling her madam. 
This was her husband’s commencement, and she would 
not have been a woman if she had not looked after her 
commencement attire. Had Julia, Belle and Mrs. Clay 
been sitting grouped around her as she intended, still, in 
good looks and good clothes, Mrs. Holt would have 
queened it over them all. 

You can imagine that it did not hurt my feelings to 
sit in the president’s seat beside, probably, the queenliest 
looking woman in all that audience. 

The commencement music was inspiring. The essays 
and speeches about as good as those I’ve heard in the 
North at white commencements of schools of the same 
grade as Rockford was. About what were they to do? 
you ask? What will young colored graduates usually 
talk most about if you do not head them off? Oh, about 
the race, of course. Well, is not that quite the expected? 
Are they not being put through college to help solve the 
race problem? 

The State’s chief executive had been asked to make 
a speech and present the diplomas. He, the Attorney- 
General and the State Superintendnt of Public Instruc- 
tion constituted the State Board of Education. Quite 
proper, was it therefore, for Holt to invite His Excellency 
to present the diplomas, and a wise way to keep on the 
right side of the power behind the local board of trusts. 


THE CLIMBERS 


The executive sent word, however, that he was so 
busy that he could spare time only to arrive in Rockford 
at three-thirty and return to the Capital on the north- 
bound mail due in Rockford at five o’clock. This hour 
and a half would give him only time to step into a car- 
riage, drive to Rockford, deliver his speech and the diplo- 
mas, and hurry back to the depot for the five o’clock mail. 

Now, the Governor was a distinguished Confederate 
general, belonging to one of the oldest and most noted 
families of the State. His Excellency was one of that not 
small class of Southern aristocrats who feel that the white 
man’s claim of being superior to the black man demands 
that the Anglo-Saxon make good his contention by treat- 
ing colored people right. 

The State executive was quite willing, therefore, to 
visit the school and thereby show his friendlinss to the 
institution and the race, provided his visit could be so 
arranged that His Excellency would not be obliged to 
accept social courtesies from a Negro president and fac- 
ulty. Hence the arrangements just described. 

The well-dressed, respectable, well-behaved, large, in- 
telligent audience from one-thirty had been listening with 
enthusiastic appreciation to the exercises to be climaxed 
some time after three-thirty by the Governor’s speech. 

Mom Kitty had a nephew and Juddy Hill an exquis- 
itely handsome daughter among the graduates; and so 
these two ladies were all enthusiasm; and who is not, 
when, at a commencement, our own dear boy or girl is 
one of the graduates? 

Mrs. Holt and I had kept up a low-voiced, good-hu- 
mored comment, possible only between friends so inti- 
mate as to address each other by the front name — com- 


AT THE GATE BEAUTIFUL 


89 


ment on the fine tact displayed by Holt; the good taste 
of Fairfax, evidenced by his handling of the music, and 
his careful drilling of the performers, which painstaking 
training was exhibited in the manner of the rendition of 
their speeches and essays. 

Finally, there remained but two more performances: 
an essay by a girl so white that it would take a board of 
physicians to prove that she was colored, and the vale- 
dictory by a young man not only the blackest member of 
the class, but a black man. Yes, just black ; no adjectives 
needed! 

President Holt was about to announce the fair mai- 
den, when an usher informed him that the Governor’s 
carriage would soon be up the hill one must ascend to 
get to Rockford campus. The audience was asked to 
wait until the president should return to the hall with 
the Governor. 

With Holt’s departure to meet the great man down- 
stairs, a ripple of conversation broke over the expectant, 
good-humored crowd, with here and there low-voiced 
laughter; for on what occasion is it that the fun-loving 
Negro nature does not find matter for mirth? Aye, you 
have seen colored people enjoy even funerals! 

But presently a hush falls on the throng. Necks are 
craned with bodies turned. The doors open. Beside 
Holt, and followed by the Hon. Nathan F. Cleggett and 
a Rockford gentleman, up the middle aisle starts the 
Governor — a large, short, red-faced, blue-eyed, sandy- 
haired man who had more years of his life behind him 
than before him. There is a burst of applause, generous 
and prolonged, which His Excellency acknowledges by 
bows to the right and left as he goes to the seat reserved 
for him during the exercises, a fine throne-like chair 


90 


THE CLIMBERS 


placed under this legend, printed in large letters on the 
wall: “Welcome to the Governor." 

His Excellency heard the white girl's essay and the 
black boy's valedictory, then gave his speech and present- 
ed the diplomas to “you young men and young women." 

The old gentleman could not bring himself to address- 
ing them as “young ladies and gentlemen." He was a 
man of affairs rather than an orator; and so while he did 
not make a great speech, he made a kind one, replete with 
sound advice: “You people ought to be industrious, 
frugal, law-abiding, on good terms with your best friends 
(the white people of the South), polite, and faithful as the 
old black mammies were before the war," et cetera. 

Howbeit, with his sound advice the Governor put 
forth some unsound political economy. He told us that 
because the bulk of school taxes are paid by white people, 
that State support of Negro education is a pure gratuity, 
for which “you people ought to be garteful to the white 
people." 

“Now, governor, that will not do. If Negroes don't 
commit more crimes than anybody else, yet, and still 
because they are ignorant and poor, they are oftener 
before the courts, and consequently pay more fines than 
anybody else. If the fines Negroes pay were added to 
the taxes and saloon licenses they pay, it is doubtful if 
Negroes get many more schools than they actually pay for. 

I admit, indeed, that Negroes ought to be grateful for 
State support of Negro education — if, for no other rea- 
son, because the State does its duty ; but it is an economic 
heresy to say that Negro education is a gratuity and not 
a right because white people have more taxable property 
than black people. Everywhere (except in the South) 
political economists agree that no matter who turns in 


AT THE GATE BEAUTIFUL 


9i 


the taxes to the State treasury, that yet and still the 
laborer, the man who does the work, is the man who 
really pays the taxes; for there would be no money to 
turn in if there were no laborer at the forge, in the shop 
and on the farm. Now, since the man who does the 
work pays the taxes, if the Negro, ever since he has been 
in the South, has not done most of the work of the South, 
and that, too, for two long centuries before he was 
allowed any schooling at all, — if the Negro has not done 
most of the work of the South, I would like to know who 
has. 

No, dear Governor, the State’s education of the Negro 
is not a gratuity; it is the Negro’s right. The child of 
the wage-earner has the same right to State education 
that the capitalist’s child has. 

After the chief executive had presented the diplomas, 
the two gentlemen who accompanied him were called 
on for “remarks.” They remarked entirely too long; so 
long, that though the exercises were not over, His Excel- 
lency had to go for his train when the latter of the two 
remarkers took his seat. The good-humored audience 
were asked to wait until the programme should be com- 
pleted. Holt started to accompany the Governor to his 
carriage. Again the audience burst into applause and 
the Governor, proceeding down the aisle at Holt’s side, 
bowed to left and right in acknowledgment. 

When the party had left the hall, again a ripple of 
sprightly conversation broke over the great gathering. 
Mom Kitty and Juddy Hill turned round and engaged 
Mrs. Holt and myself in talk. 

The Governor’s presence, the speeches, the gradua- 
tion of Mom Kitty’s nephew and Juddy Hill’s daughter, 
had put the two ex-slave mothers in a happy reminiscent 


92 


THE CLIMBERS 


mood. Juddy Hill, with glistening eyes, said to Mrs. 
Holt and myself: “You all is Northern folks who never 
knew anything ’bout slavery, — you, two President Holt 
an’ Professor Fairfax. This day can’t be to you whut 
hit is to Sista Kitty an’ myself.” 

“No, indeed,” assented Mom Kitty. “Dr. Wade,” 
continued Juddy, “I neva thought the las’ time I saw the 
gen’ral that he’d eva give any chile of mine a diploma.” 

“When was that?” asked Mrs. Holt. 

“In the fust year o’ the war. My young missis’ hus- 
ban’, Colonel Poindexter, was on the gen’ral’s staff. 
She’d follow him in the army wherever she could, an’ 
always took me with her. 

“The las’ time I seen de gen’ral befo’ to-day, was de 
day after de night he made a raid on de Yankees an’ got 
wounded an’ brought back with ’em Liza Horn, almos’ 
distracted ’cause she’d lef’ behin’ in de Union camp her 
only chile, a boy.” 

A look flashed between Mrs. Holt and myself. 

“Why, I always heerd hit was a gal dat Jeta an’ Liza 
los’?” put in Mom Kitty. 

“No, it wasn’t; it was a boy. And I neva seen any- 
body so heart broken as Liza was.” 

Continued she: “You see, Sista Kitty, Liza was fust 
married to Zeke Brown; but she belonged to Miss Ethel 
Kirk in Miss Ethel’s own right. When she married Dr. 
Warren Pogue, the only way to keep from separatin’ 
Liza an’ Zeke was either for Miss Ethel’s father to sell or 
give Zeke to the Pogues, or for Miss Ethel to give up 
Liza, her maid. None of ’em was willin’ to do any of 
these things; an’, as old Tom Kirk moved to Louisiana 
when Miss Ethel got married, Zeke an’ Liza was sepa- 
rated, an’ they married her to Jeta. She an’ Jeta the 


AT THE GATE BEAUTIFUL 


93 


Pogues took in the army. Dr. Pogue was a great sur- 
geon — an’ the Yankees had captured Liza an’ her little 
boy. An’ the gen’ral knew her an’ brought her back to 
Dr. Pogue, who was on his staff. An’ Liza ” 

Here she was interrupted by the applause of Fairfax 
announcing that Miss Alice Hill, Juddy Hill’s daughter, 
would sing a solo while they were waiting for the presi- 
dent’s return. 

The interest of the two women bent on the beautiful 
girl going up on the rostrum to sing. Mrs. Holt whis- 
pered to me: “Joe, suppose Gus is?” — and paused, look- 
ing into my eyes. 

“Had you ever thought of it before?” I whispered. 

“Yes, and have told Dave so a hundred times.” 

“Have you ever hinted it to him and Julia?” 

“No, nor to any one else,” she answered cautiously. 

Said I : “I don’t think it worth while to do so. It may 
not be true. If it is true, but nobody knows, what dif- 
ference does it make? If it is true, and Julia and Gus 
find it out, what then?” 

“That’s just what Dave asks.” 

“What do you say if it is true?” I asked, looking her 
straight in the eye. 

“I don’t know ! I don’t let myself think of the dread- 
ful possibility!” said she, much moved. 

“If it should prove true, my advice to you is, let Julia 
and Gus decide what they will do.” 

“That’s just what Dave says!” 

“Then for you, madam, mum is the word. Mum 
here,” continued I, touching my breast with the fore- 
finger of my right hand, then giving my attention to Miss 
Alice Hill’s solo, more, I admit, to the exquisitely pretty 
girl than to her singing. 


94 


THE CLIMBERS 


The solo over, and the prolonged clapping, after 
everybody else had stopped, of the half dozen fellows in 
love with pretty Alice, we had the rest of the programme : 
the speeches of “distinguished visitors,” somebody, now 
that the Governor had gone ; flowers and presents of dot- 
ing friends, remarks by the president, announcements, 
benediction. 

Then the congratulations and the myriad-voiced hub- 
bub of the breaking up of a great, enthusiastic throng of 
the offspring of Ham — demonstrative children of the trop- 
ics — hopeful for the future because of the tear-stained, 
blood-flecked past; and because 

“There is a divinity that shapes our ends, 
Rough-hew them how we will,” 
who is effecting the only solution of the race problem. 

The only solution? Yes; “nothing is ever settled 
until it is settled right.” The drama of the right solu- 
tion is now on the stage. Here it is: Ham, rising in 
Christian civilization; Japhet, getting used to it; aye, for 
despite “wrongs that need resistance,” Power benign is 
moving Japhet to help Ham to rise in civilization, as, 
according to Acts the third, the Apostle Peter helped up 
the lame man at the Gate Beautiful. 

“And he took him by the right hand, and lifted him 
up. * * * And all the people saw him walking and prais- 
ing God. * * * And they were filled with wonder and 
amazement at that which had happened unto him.” 

“What hath God wrought!” The miracle drama of 
Ham’s uplifting is the marvel of the world ! Quite nat- 
ural, then, is the hopefulness of the sun-kissed folk, 
recently ransomed from thraldom by the nation’s best 
blood, now being uplifted by the nation’s best conscience. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Hurt To The Heart. 

“Then must the Jew be merciful.” 

“On what compulsion must I? Tell me that.” 


“We do pray for mercy: and that same prayer doth 
teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy.” 

— The Merchant of Venice, Act IV., Scene i. 

There are lots of folks in this world who are hurt to 
the heart over other people’s good fortune. The Hon. 
Nathan F. Cleggett, a member of the legislature, one of 
the gentlemen who accompanied the Governor to Rock- 
ford commencement — this gentleman got his feelings hurt 
that day. He had visited the school before. Holt, in 
great courtesy, took him through the college and showed 
him everything from Alpha to Omega. 

When he saw the students’ dining-room, the profess- 
ors’ rooms, the president’s house; when he beheld what 
was being studied, and how — well, like the Queen of 
Sheba upon her visit to Solomon, he said : “The half was 
not told me.” 

He left the institution hurt to the heart. Then he 
came back with the Governor commencement day. What 
he then saw and heard hurt him still more. He was 
quite sick of heart at the evidence of Negro uplifting. 

95 


96 


THE CLIMBERS 


Yes, he was hurt to the heart as Joseph’s brethren were 
over Joseph’s coat of many colors; as Ahab was over 
Naboth’s vineyard ; as that Roman senator was who, see- 
ing the glory of the Punic capital, ended every speech 
thereafter, on no matter what subject, with the words: 
“Carthage must be destroyed.” 

Now, you know that this sort of heart-hurt leads to 
action. You know what Joseph’s brethren, — Ahab, — and 
the Romans did. 

To what action did the heart-hurt of the legislator 
lead? Well, now, what did he who was heart-hurt over 
the happiness of our first parents in Eden? Did he not 
go about to break up that happiness? Yes, and the 
heart-hurt lawmaker went about to break up Negro 
uplifting by means of Rockford, as he who is described 
in Genesis as “more subtle than any beast in the field 
which the Lord God had made” took steps to put an end 
to the happiness of earth’s first pair of lovers. 

The angelic Solon swore he was going to introduce a 
bill in the legislature to turn the college into an insane 
asylum, as the State could not provide for all the colored 
insane of the State. 

Now, the Hon. N. F. Cleggett knew there were a 
large constituency throughout the State whose views of 
Negro education may be expressed as follows: Industrial 
education for the Negro is better than higher education; 
but no education is still better than industrial education. 

He knew he would have backing that would bring 
him distinction, even if the measure should fail. It is not 
improbable that the Hon. Cleggett was more anxious to 
boost himself politically than he was to ease his heart- 
hurt over Negro progress; more zealous to find an issue 


HURT TO THE HEART 


97 


that would keep him in the legislature and bring him 
into prominence than he was to break up Rockford Col- 
lege. He had seen other men rise to power by kicking 
the Negro; why might he not do the same? 

It is clear that no matter what Mr. Cleggett’s motives 
were, his move to present such a bill at the coming ses- 
sion of the legislature might prove disastrous to Rock- 
ford College, since it was true that the State was under 
the necessity of providing additional accommodations 
for the large number of colored insane confined in poor- 
houses and jails. The colored people of the State were 
apprehensive for Rockford College. Delegations of col- 
ored men and petitions had been sent to every source of 
political influence in the State to avert the threatening 
evil. Holt saw the Governor, and everybody else with 
whom he had influence. 

It was a time to make every edge cut that would cut. 

Now, while it was true that the Governor was Holt’s 
supporter, yet it was thought wise to send to him Wil- 
son, who had no connection with the college. His 
Excellency was a member of our denomination — and a 
great stickler for his church. Before he was elected to 
his present post, he had become very much interested in 
Wilson as the pastor of our church. Wilson had asked 
the official to help us when we were building; this he 
did quite liberally. He, in common with the white peo- 
ple of the region, members of our denomination, had 
great pride in our church, and in Wilson. For these rea- 
sons, Holt asked our pastor to go and see the Governor 
in behalf of Rockford College. 

Also Fairfax was asked to see the Attorney-General 
of the State. 

This official had got acquainted with Fairfax in the 


98 


THE CLIMBERS 


Gulf State, wherein Julia’s intended taught before com- 
ing to Rockford. 

While conducting a case in the city in which Fairfax 
taught, the great lawyer’s life was saved by the young 
colored teacher. He overheard a plot to waylay and 
murder the lawyer, and Fairfax, by revealing what he 
knew, caused the plot to fail. The Attorney-General 
thought a great deal of Fairfax in consequence. Hence, 
Holt’s request that the young professor see the great man 
in the interest of maintaining the college. 

Now, both Wilson and Fairfax had sought to see, the 
one the executive, and the other the Attorney-General, 
who, with the Superintendent of Public Instruction, con- 
stitute the State Board of Education. 

Wilson got His Excellency’s classmate to write the 
Governor asking for an interview; but his private secre- 
tary wrote that His Excellency was away, and that Wil- 
son would be informed if he might call. Fairfax went to 
the capitol to see the Attorney-general, but the great law- 
yer was over ears in a great case. He told Fairfax to 
call again when the case was decided When that came 
to pass, however, that official was on a critical bed of 
typhoid fever. 

Both Wilson and Fairfax, therefore, were doing that 
thing so hard to do : they were waiting. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Instant In Season And Out. 

“And it came to pass, when Moses came down from Mount 
Sinai with the two tables of testimony in Moses’ hand, when he 
came down from the Mount, that Moses wist not that the skin of 
his face shone while he talked with him.” — Ex. 34:29. 

Mrs. Harper, with whom and her husband Wilson 
made his home, was, in consequence of being a trained 
nurse, much away from home. Her younger sister, Miss 
Alma May Montague, kept house in the wife’s absence 
and cared for Alfred, Junior, a chap in frocks. Alma was 
quite an attractive and interesting woman — though not 
what I’d call a handsome girl. She had, however, three 
beautiful features, namely, a pretty light mahogany color, 
an abundant suit of hair as glossy as a raven’s wing, and 
a pretty mouth filled with perfect pearls. 

She was not a Christian, though a constant attendant 
on our church and Sabbath School and a most doughty 
champion of our church and its pastor against all assail- 
ants. 

It was a foregone conclusion that Wilson would strive 
to lead her to the Cross. He had, ever since he went to 
Harper’s, in season and out of season, been instant in 
trying to bring Miss Montague into the fold. The upshot 
of Wilson’s constant, fervent pleading with the girl to 
give her heart to the Savior was, that she gave it to the 

99 


100 


THE CLIMBERS 


preacher. That she had done so was apparent to every- 
one in the church except the earnest divine himself. 
Mom Kitty was at our church one Sunday morning. It 
was the pastor’s custom, after the service, to shake hands 
with every single one of his congregation. 

When he shook hands with Alma that morning, Mom 
Kitty squeezed my arm to attract my attention to them 
and said: “Dat gal sholy does love dat preacher! All 
durin’ de preachin’ she set almos’ holdin’ her bref to ketch 
ev’ry word he said, an’ jes eatin’ him up wid her eyes.” 

Alma’s love for Wilson, after a time, made her un- 
happy ; she knew he was not thinking of her in that way. 
The pastor thought the girl was unhappy about her soul, 
and so redoubled his efforts to lead her to the Holy One, 
while Alma, the meantime, grew still more unhappy. 

Three weeks after Zeke had told us how he lost his 
“deyconry,” Isaac Scattergood drove by and asked me to 
go out to his truck farm to see Juddy Hill, who was sick. 
I drove by Harper’s on my way out to get Wilson to take 
him for a drive, and to see the sick woman. That was 
about three in the afternoon. 

As soon as Wilson came to the buggy, I saw at a 
glance (I knew him so well) that he was in the seventh 
heaven of spiritual fervor; for he had on his face the look 
it wore when he was at his best in the pulpit. I found 
he had just had a talk with Alma, which he was over- 
joyed to believe would lead her to the Light. 

He gave the following account: 

Alma had finished her work, changed her dress, and 
was on the secluded, vine-sheltered side porch in a com- 
fortable rocker resting after having cleared up the dinner 
dishes. Here Wilson found her and pleaded with her 
to give herself to the Savior, explaining that she had only 


INSTANT IN SEASON AND OUT 


IOI 


to take Him at His word, as in all the relationships of life 
we every day take men at their word Said he : “Alma, I 
am but a poor, sinful mortal; yet, if I told you that I 
loved you, and asked you to surrender your heart and 
life to me, you know me well enough to know that I 
would not disappoint you. Now, here is the Savior — per- 
fect, sinless and loving you so much as to die for you. 
Why will you not trust Him, Alma? You would trust 
me if I told you that I loved you — why will you not sur- 
render to Him?” 

“When I said that,” he went on rapturously, “she 
burst into tears, and the next moment threw her apron 
over her face and rushed upstairs to her room!” 

I had a struggle to keep from laughing in his face ! I 
was sure it was human affection, and not, as he supposed, 
divine love that made Alma flee his presence ; but Wilson, 
the dear fellow, with his head in the clouds — he didn’t 
see the situation. He did not see that Alma loved him 
and that his personal appeal had stirred up her feelings. 
And under the circumstances, I would not for the world 
have disillusioned him; for to have done so would have 
rendered him self-conscious and turned him aside from 
trying to lead Alma to the fold. 

Sure enough, events proved that I was right. 

I am sure Wilson expected that Alma would find 
peace by the time we returned from Scattergood’s. When 
we arrived at Harper’s gate, she came tripping down the 
walk to the buggy. Wilson’s excitement was visible. 
He thought she was coming to tell us of her new-found 
joy. Instead of that, she began in brisk, breezy manner 
to talk commonplace — asking after Juddy Hill and Belle. 
Poor Wilson’s spirits went down to zero. He was so 


102 


THE CLIMBERS 


disappointed that he did not get out of the buggy, but 
went on down town with me. 

When Moses came down from Sinai from holding 
communion with Jehovah, the law-giver's face shone, but 
he knew it not. Wilson’s face shone from a like com- 
munion. I loved him because it did and he knew it not. 
I was quite anxious that he should lead Alma to the 
Cross. She was a fine girl, and all the church folks 
loved her. 

Yes, I was anxious that our pastor should succeed in 
bringing her into the kingdom; but, nevertheless, Belle 
and I had many a good laugh that night at Wilson’s holy 
blindness to Alma’s love. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

“A Little Child Shall Lead Them.” 

“A Little Child Shall Lead Them.” — Isa. 11:6. 

It was Wednesday I went to Scattergood’s. Friday 
I had to go out again ; besides this, I had an engagement 
to take Wilson out to the poor-house. Jeter had suffi- 
ciently got oer his jim-jams to know he was very sick. 
He feared he was going to die, and strange to say, begged 
to have, not Granville, but Wilson to come and see him. 
This my pastor had several times done. 

About three o’clock Friday afternoon, on my way 
back from Scattergood’s, I stopped by Harper’s for Wil- 
son; but he was out, Alma knew not where. Dressed 
up as if she expected a visitor, I found Alma on the vine- 
clad, secluded side porch. She was alone, except for 
Alfred, Junior, a pretty, chubby, hazelnut colored chap 
in frocks. As I sat talking to Alma where I found her, 
Alfred left off playing with his tin soldiers and came to 
me; and resting his elbows on my knees, he silently, 
for a while, fixed his dreamy eyes in my face; then he 
startled me by saying decisively: “Dr. Wade, you is a 
lie.” 

“Alfred!” chided Alma, “you mustn’t be naughty!” 

“Well, auntie,” piped he in injured tones, “didn’t you 
103 


104 


THE CLIMBERS 


say ’at folks ’at don’t do like they say they is goin’ to do, 
— didn’t you said las’ week they is a lie?” 

“Yes, pet; but you must not be rude and speak like 
that to Dr. Wade.” 

“Well,” persisted the little logician in kilts, “he prom- 
ised me a penny las’ week, an’ he ain’t gie it to me; he 
owes me my penny.” 

“Oh, ho ! little man !” said I, stooping down and kiss- 
ing the child and laughing at his holding me to my prom- 
ise, “thou are more righteous than I ! Now, sir, you 
shall have your penny and more, too.” 

I gave him a ten-cent piece. 

No sooner did the little fellow feel the dime in his 
chubby fist, than he bounded off the porch to go to a 
nearby store. 

“What do you say to Dr. Wade?” she called after the 
fleeing urchin, at whom we were both laughing. 

“Fank you, Dr. Wade! an’ much obliged, too!” came 
back the sweet baby voice. 

When he saw my horse at the gate he called : “Auntie, 
I’m goin’ to buy cake hosses to-day; but when I git a 
man, I’m goin’ to buy sho ’nough hosses, real meat 
hosses, auntie.” 

“All right, darling,” she laughingly answered him, 
her voice full of love. 

We heard his little bare feet slapping the unpaved 
sidewalk as he hied toward the corner grocery, in his 
own eyes a multi-millionaire. 

I looked in silence for a moment into Alma’s eyes, 
and slowly said : “And a little child shall lead them.” 

“There is faith for you, Alma ! What a pity that we 
don’t all take God at His word and just depend on His 
promises as a little child holds you to your word.” 


“A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM” 105 

For a moment she looked in silence on the floor ; then 
lifting to my gaze a face full of feeling, she asked irrele- 
vantly: “Did Mr. Wilson tell you anything day before 
yesterday ?” 

“He told me he had been having a talk with you. He 
wholly misunderstood, however, why you rushed upstairs 
and left him. ,, 

“How do you know why I did, you weren’t here,” she 
said, her mood entirely changing. 

In response to her changed mood — and I suppose she 
detected the mischievous twinkle in my eyes — I said: 
“No, I wasn’t here; but still I know why you rushed 
upstairs.” 

“How do you know? You’re always prying around 
into something !” 

“No, I didn’t pry into that. Haven’t you been talking 
to Julia? And doesn’t Julia talk to Belle? Indeed, don’t 
you yourself talk to Belle?” 

“That’s the way with married women!” snapped she, 
“they can’t keep a thing!” 

“I’ve been on the point several times of telling Mr. 
Wilson which way the wind is blowing,” said I with a 
quiet smile. 

“No, don’t you! If you do, Dr. Wade, I declare I’ll 
never speak to you again!” flared she, rising to her feet 
in her excitement. 

“Keep cool! Keep cool, girlie! I’m just joking.” 

“I declare!” laughed she shame-facedly at betraying 
her feelings, “that’s why a girl can’t keep up her friend- 
ships with married women; they tell their husbands all 
they know!” 

“You don’t mind my knowing, do you?” 

“No use if I do; you’re always prying into things!” 


io6 


THE CLIMBERS 


“No, little girl, I don’t pry, I just open my eyes and 
see what is to be seen. I’ve seen for some time that you 
are in love with your pastor.’’ 

“My pastor? I have no pastor!” she said sadly. 
“No, you have not; but I trust you soon will have. 
Oh, Alma, let little Alfred teach you! You have only to 
take Christ at His word, and love Him back again for 
His love to you! 

“Can’t you, will you not do that, Alma?” 

With deep feeling she answered: “I will try, Dr. 
Wade!” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A Sunday In June. 

“All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 

Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 

Are but the ministers of Love, 

And feed his sacred flame.” 

— Coleridge. 

A rare day in June was the Sunday following the Fri- 
day I had the talk with Alma. Zeke Brown was visit- 
ing our church, fulfilling the promise made to our pastor 
Decoration day, though President Holt was preaching 
that morning for Rev. Walter Granville. Except Mrs. 
Holt, who was with her husband, the rest of the Nor- 
walkers were at our church this perfect day in June, and 
a good-sized congregation besides. 

I felt sure Mr. Wilson had prepared his sermon with 
Alma’s need on his heart. I felt sure of this as soon as 
he began to preach. This is the text : 

“God so loved the world, that He gave His only 
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should 
not perish, but have everlasting life.” 

For nearly three-quarters of an hour we hung on the 
preacher’s Spirit-breathed words. I could see the quiv- 
ering of Alma’s whole frame at times. The “fountains 
of the great deep” of her soul were broken up. In clos- 
ing, the pastor used the same illustration he used with 

107 


io8 


THE CLIMBERS 


Alma on the vine-clad, secluded porch. Tall, walnut- 
colored, thin and refined of feature, I can see him now in 
the fervor of appeal lean gracefully forward, both hands 
extended, as he said: “I am but a poor sinful mortal; 
yet if I should tell you that I loved you, and should ask 
you to surrender your hearts and lives to me, you know 
me well enough to know that if you did this, so far as my 
ability goes, I would not disappoint you. Must I say, 
why will you not trust the sinless Savior who is all love 
and all power? No; I need not say that. You do trust 
Him ! You do surrender to Him ! I know you do ! You 
cannot but surrender to one so tender, so loving !” 

How thrilling was his voice ! 

I saw a wave of feeling go over the congregation. 
Alma’s whole frame quivered. Down dropped her head 
on the back of the pew in front of her. She was on her 
feet the next instant, her hands clasped out high. Trem- 
ulously her musical voice rang out: “Blessed Savior! I 
do surrender! ’Tis all I can do !” 

Down she sank in the arms of her sister in the pew 
with her. The effect was electrical! Sobs could be 
heard all over the congregation ! 

How they did sing the closing hymn, “Rock of Ages.” 
Then followed the benediction. 

Rockford colored people in general believed in noisy, 
emotional demonstration. The more demonstration, the 
more piety, was the prevailing notion. During his min- 
istry Wilson sought to teach his flock better; but his 
teaching was put to a severe test that morning ; for when 
services closed they “made a joyful noise unto the Lord” 
over Alma’s conversion. 

Our church was like one family. 

From group to group the happy girl went shaking 


A SUNDAY IN JUNE 


109 


hands ; receiving an embrace here, bestowing one yonder, 
among those who had long known and loved her. Alma 
received an embrace from each Belle and Julia, and 
bestowed one on Fairfax and myself; but I was amused 
to see that she gave Wilson, who was in ecstasy, only a 
handshake. 

Zeke Brown made plenty of noise over Alma — “de 
darter of my ole frien’, a chile Fve knowed befo’ she 
knowed herself!” Later, as we were going home, when 
he was about to turn off from our party, consisting of 
Julia, Fairfax, Belle and myself, he said: “When Alma 
hugged me to-day hit done ma very soul good ! Humph ! 
I hope I’ll be at you all’s chu’ch when some mo’ good- 
lookin’ gals gits religion, ef dey all is gwine to do dat 
away.” 

We laughed at this. 

When Zeke was gone, I said to Julia: “What did you 
say to Brother Wilson when I saw you go up to him 
that made him start and look at Alma so strangely? I 
hope you didn’t tell him that she learned to love the 
Savior by first learning to love him.” 

“No,” replied she, “I’m not a man, and so I didn’t put 
it that way.” 

“What did you say?” asked Fairfax. 

“I congratulated him on the fact that Alma had 
learned the divine love by what she knew of the human,” 
she replied. 

“Well, that’s the same thing! and I am sure from the 
way he looked and acted he understood it,” replied her 
lover. 

“I wanted him to know,” answered Julia. 

Said I : “Oh, Julia, how could you disillusion him— 
and that, too, to-day, when he is on the mountain top! 


no 


THE CLIMBERS 


I’m sure he has not thought of Alma, except as one to 
lead to the Master. ,, 

Replied Belle : “But Alma loves him ! and though he 
doesn’t know it, it’s my opinion that Mr. Wilson loves 
her. Why are men so blind?” 

“Men so blind?” laughed Fairfax; “I’ve known women 
to be blind. I knew one lady that needed a runaway 
horse to open her eyes.” 

“Oh, you ! you !” pouted Belle, pointing her finger in 
smiling protest at Fairfax, while the rest of us laughed 
at her discomfiture. 

Said I : “One thing is certain : Brother Wilson will 
not longer be blind to Alma’s feelings.” 

“I just hope something will happen to open his eyes 
to his own heart; for Alma would make a fine pastor’s 
wife,” said Belle. 

Said I: “There you go — match-making!” 

“No, no; matches are made in heaven — that is, the 
happy ones,” she answered. 

“The happy ones? Who makes the unhappy ones, 
then?” asked Fairfax. 

“I don’t believe they are made in heaven.” stoutly 
maintained Belle. 

“Ho! ho! Madame Darling!” laughed the professor; 
“we’ll have to have you up for heresy ! for that’s mighty 
poor theology, and still poorer logic. If all things are 
not controlled — unhappy marriages too, then, some un- 
controllable thing might upset some decreed matter. 
What becomes of the divine sovereignty if God’s plan 
can be upset as men’s can?” 

“Oh, get out with your logic,” said Belle, cornered. 

“We are talking about love, not logic,” put in Julia; 
“what has logic to do with love?” 


A SUNDAY IN JUNE 


in 


“Not a thing !” he answered with unction, his eyes in 
Julia’s. 

“If it had, there’d not be a ghost of a chance for a fel- 
low like me.” 

Her answering look indicated that he had more than 
a ghost of a chance with her. When nature that glorious 
June day was in tune with our happy hearts, how sweet 
seemed love? And the beautiful sermon and Alma’s new, 
beautiful joy helped us to know more of divine love by 
what we knew of pure human affection. 

As we turned up the street leading to our home, a 
sight met us that made Julia and Belle instinctively cling 
close to Fairfax and myself. Evidently, Jeter Horn’s 
recuperative powers had been underestimated. Quite as 
evidently he had broken out of the poor-house ; for step- 
ping high and wide down the middle of the street, his 
arms held up as a hen lifts her wings when about to fly, 
came Jeter, crazy drunk, barefooted, his hat in one hand, 
his head thrown back, his eyes rolling, staring, glassy, 
ghastly! A profanation of the holy calm of that glori- 
ous Sabbath day was the delirious rigmarole he was get- 
ting off in a voice high-keyed and loud : 

“I’m a man you don’t see every day. Circumstances 
alters cases. Skimmed milk masquerades fo’ cream. De 
bottom rail done got on top ; fo’ de nigga’s whose daddies 
was branded wid deir marsta’s name like cattle, done 
got eggucation an’ is actin’ jest like whiete folks; an’ 
ole Jeta Horn is glad to see his color a risin’ in de worl’, ef 
he is gwine down hissef.” 

“Good-mornin’, ladies an’ gentmuns,” he addressed us, 
bowing profoundly and swinging low his hat, “Gawd 
bless de ladies! Don’t dey look sweet! Jes like fine whiete 
folks!” 


THE CLIMBERS 


1 12 


Whatever else he would have said, was cut short by 
the clatter of the police patrol wagon, which, thundered 
around the corner after the crazed old sot. 

With a blood-curdling shriek he started to run, but 
was soon overtaken and carried, yelling back to the poor- 
house, to be guarded thereafter more carefully, lest he 
should again break out, and find the means of getting 
drunk. 

The streets at the time of his arrest were filled with 
people of both races, going home from church, and the 
exhibition that Jeter made in the face of all Rockford, 
(for there were as many as six churches in the neighbor- 
hood of his arrest) made us ashamed for our race. 

“As for me, it filled me full — full of thought !” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Zeke Brown’s Vision. 

“Which Things Are An Allegory.” — Gal. 4:24. 

The next day, when, late in the afternoon I saw Zeke 
Brown in the park, he said to me: “I’ve been thinkin’ 
all day long Tout dat sermont I heerd at you all's chu’ch 
yestiday, an’ 'bout Alma. Her daddy, Jim Montague an' 
me was fellow sarvants an’ jes like bruthers. She looks 
like her daddy; an' she's got fine feelin’s an' a sweet 
voice jes like him. 

When she 'fessed yestiday, her voice fotch up to my 
mind Jim Montague an’ ole times." 

“If she is the daughter of your dead friend, I can 
understand how happy it made you to see her start for 
the Kingdom." 

“Yas, in deed. When I heered dat chile's voice yesti- 
day, so full o' feelin' hit brung up ole times, when me an' 
Jim used to make up shouts an' sing 'em. I tell you what 
it is, Jim Montague was a shout songster sho's you bo'n! 
Fact is, de white folks said Jim was some sort o' poet. 
He made up one piece o' po'try, dat I liked so well, dat 
I learnt hit by heart. An’ I used to speak it so much 
dat one night I had a dream, an’ I dreampt dat I spoke 
hit to de whiete folks. I tole my dream, an' de people 
said I had done had a rale vision like de ole Bible proph- 

113 


THE CLIMBERS 


1 14 

ets used to have. Den de folks ’gun to call me prophet.” 

I knew he was called prophet, but supposed it was 
because of his name, and I said as much to him. 

“No sah,” replied he, “I s’pose I’d a been a preacher 
dis very minute ef it hadn’t been fo’ dat ole nigga, Jeta,” 
— this with warmth. 

“How so?” I asked. 

“Oh ’cause, when he knocked me outen my deyconry, 
he knocked me outen bein’ a preacher too! Dat nigga 
sholy he has bin in my way in dis worl’!” 

“I hope you don’t hate him!” 

“No, Doctor Wade, I don’t hate ole Jeta; but I don’t 
love ’im. Hit takes so much of my strength,” grinned he, 
“to keep fum hatin’ him, I ain’t got none lef’ to love him 
wid.” 

I chuckled over this. 

His mood immediately shifting, in a low dreamy voice 
he continued: “Ef my Liza had o’ lived, I’d jes had to 
leave Rockford; hit nigh ’bout kilt me to see her wid 
dat low down man; an’ me fairly warshippin’ de very 
groun’ she walked on ; a dreamin’ an’ a dreamin’ ’bout her 
night an’ day! 

“You see me gwine ’bout laffin’ an’ runnin’ on so; but 
Dr. Wade, hit peers like to me, I jes can’t git over Liza! 
Nobody but Gawd knows how I has cried in my heart!” 

I felt my throat tighten. 

Mingled with the old man’s plaintive voice the music 
of a nearby playing fountain fell on the balmy June air 
where, in a secluded spot, we sat on a park bench beneath 
a lordly beech-tree whose top was glorified by the setting 
sun. 

I asked him to tell me the dream which the folks had 
called a vision. He informed me that he had had it writ- 


ZEKE BROWN’S VISION 


US 

ten down so as not to forget; and offered to let me read 
the manuscript, but I wanted to hear it in his own pic- 
turesque dialect, so I got him to promise to let me see 
the manuscript later. From the manuscript and the nar- 
rative hot from his lips I am able to give the following 
account of Zeke Brown's vision. 

He was keenly alive, alike to the humor and pathos 
of it. 

As has been said, he was a capital story-teller. It 
follows, therefore that no reproduction in cold type can 
do justice to the old man's dramatic rendition of what the 
folks called his vision. 

Zeke Brown had a way of pulling his mustache when 
he was about to tell a tale. When you go fishing, if 
you wish to catch anything, even if you have good bait, 
you must keep quiet. I kept quiet when he began after 
his mustache. With good bait, Zeke’s own vanity and 
by keeping quiet, by tactful angling, I was at last able to 
land the following story: 

“Hit was a long time ago dat I seed de vision; or 
ruther, dat I had de dream.'' 

This statement is to be credited; for the manuscript 
brought me later was yellow with age. 

“Hit was durin’ de time I was in my deyconry — in 
fac’ I was in de highday of my deyconry. I don’t know 
how I come to dream de vision, 'les 'twas our Elda — not 
Granville, he wa’n’t knee high to a duck den — gi'n dat 
Sunday night a mighty powerful sermont 'bout Satan 
showin’ Chris’ all de kingdoms of de yearth, an’ said, ‘all 
dese will I give you ef you’ll only fall down an’ warshup 
me. 

“Hit was Sunday night when I dreampt it. I was in 


n6 


THE CLIMBERS 


de Spirit all dat day. Dat mornin’ I had done tote roun’ 
de yelements at de communion. Dat night Elda Jeems 
Whitman preached de mos’ powerfulis sermunt I evah 
heered ’bout how in dese days ole Satan offers folks de 
whole worl’ ef dey will only fall down an’ warshup him ; 
an’ how a heap o’ people, both black an’ white, done tuk 
de devil at his word an’ is servin’ him wid all deer might, 
to fin’ dat he is a big liar!” 

“Yas, I was happy all dat day. Liza was at chu’ch 
both mornin’ an’ night ; an’ I was so full o’ de Spirit I 
said: ‘Lawd don’t sen’ down no mo.’ I jes can’t hold 
no mo.’ ” 

“Well, I went to bed dat night, I did, an’ had a dream. 
Yas, ’twas more an’ a dream — hit was a vision. 

“I dreampt dat all de whiete folks — de gennals, de 
j edges, de newspaper men, de guvners, de senators an’ 
things — had all come together in a big meetin’ ’bout our 
folks.” 

“Dey met in fine big Broadnax hall I was janita of 
an’ had de bigges’ speakin’ you evah heered; an’ some 
o’ de best eatin’s a man evah laid in his jaws. Hit made 
me hungry jes to dream ’bout all dat good grub!” 

We both laughed at this. 

“I dreampt dat de meetin’ sot fo’ a whole week, an’ 
dat de secon’ day a purty little man come in an’ sot off 
by hissef to listen to proceeding.” 

“He was dressed fine, had a gold-headed cane, gold 
glasses an’ a shiny beaver. I thought nobody but me 
could see him ; an’ when he talked nobody but me heered 
him.” 

“Dat day jes as de purty little man tuk his seat I 
d;eampt dat a one-legged man got up to speak. Dar 


ZEKE BROWN’S VISION 


ii 7 

was lot’s o’ one-legged, one-armed, and one-eyed men in 
de meetin.’ Dis one dat got up to speak was a big ’ris- 
tocrat, but he wasn’t no chu’ch member.” 

“I dreampt dat he said : “Gawd made de whiete man 
to rule an’ de nigga to serve. Hence, it was a sin to free 
de nigga an’ give him de ballot. I’m in favor of chang- 
in’ de constitution — of puttin’ de nigga whar Gawd in- 
tended him to be. I lif’ my voice to put de nigga back 
whar he was befo’ de wah. Den dis South will be a 
fittin’ place fo’ whiete folks to live in!” 

“When he had said dat, an’ whole lot mo’ like it, an’ 
was settin’ down fannin’ hissef, I dreampt dat de purty 
little man drapt down in de seat behin’ dat big ’ristocrat 
an’ ’gun whisperin’ in his ear. Man! I sholy was 
scart, fo’ when de little fine dressed man turnt ’round to 
set down, bless my soul ! I seed a forked tail stickin’ out 
fum under his frock coat De purty little gentman was 
de ole devil !” 

“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roared Zeke. 

“I didn’t heah all de little gentman whispered in de 
one-legged man’s ear. I did ketch dis though: ‘My 
son, what makes you sech a fool? What fo’ you talkin’ 
’bout changin’ de constitution? Ain’t I tole you over 
an’ over agin dat you don’t need no change o’ de consti- 
tutun to put de nigga whar you want him an’ to do 
wid him what you want? What you keep on talkin’ 
’bout changin’ de constitutun fo’, when all you got to do 
is to go ’round de constitutun?” 

“Now, sah, ef you ain’t gwine to talk wid sense, I 
don’t want you to make no mo’ speeches in dis meetin.’ 
De kind o’ talk you gin out will do my cause mo’ harm 
dan good — Hit will make friends fo’ de nigga. 


n8 


THE CLIMBERS 


“Fum behind de ’ristocrat, de little man went to whah 
he fust set down. 

“Den a chu’ch member got de floo.” 

“De man had de face, Agger an’ voice of an angel. He 
was one o' de leadinest members o’ de body. His speech 
was as smooth as oil an’ as purty as po’try ; but hit made 
my spirits go down to zero, fo’ ev’ry time de man open 
his mouth he let out a blue flame ! But nobody saw hit 
’cept me; de house jes rocked an’ roared wid applause. 
Dat mought have been ’cause his speech was so purty. 
Anyhow, de little gentmun laughed an’ clapped so he 
come mighty nigh failin’ often his seat. 

“When de chu’ch member sot down in a storm o’ 
applause, de little man lookin’ as pleased as a basket o’ 
chips, grabbed his beaver hat an’ gold-headed cane an’ 
strutted past me. 

“I heerd him say to hissef as he started out o’ de hall : 
T’m a fool fo’ wastin’ my time heah. I’m gwine on a 
holiday while dis meetin’ las’ ; ’cause some o’ dese chu’ch 
members is tendin’ to my business better’n I ken tend to 
it mysef.’ 

“Wid dat, out de hall we went. 

“I dreampt dat when de devil had gone on a holiday, 
a soft, solemn voice what nobody but me could heah 
said : ‘Ezekiel, Ezekiel, plead fo’ yo’ people !’ 

“But I sot still scart an’ surprised. Den de voice come 
again, but I sot still, ’cause, ’sides not knowin’ whut to 
say, how was I, nothin’ but a poo’ nigga janita, gwine to 
talk to all dem big whiete folks? I dreampt dat draps o’ 
cold sweat rolled often me. 

“But dat voice come again solemner an’ solemner an’ 
I was mo’ ’fraid o’ de voice dan o’ de whiete people; so 
I got up an’ ’gun to plead fo’ my poo’ people, de whiete 


ZEKE BROWN’S VISION 


119 

folks wid mouths open spellboun’ wid surprise. But 
tremblin’ like an aspen leaf I spoke on an’ on waxin’ elo- 
quenter an’ eloquenter till by an’ by I busted fo’th in Jim 
Montague’s po’try I had done learnt by heart. I said, 
I did: 

“Oh whiete folks, whiete folks, honies, 

What shell we black folks do 

To please you all we live among 
And have yo’ frien’ship true? 

We’re told we is too wuthless 
In Dixie lan’ to stay; 

An’ yet dem agents git in jail 
Whar try to ’suade us way. 

Some say, ‘Hit’s low down niggas 
Dat make dis South lan’ sad’; 

Yet when we try to raise ourselves 
Dey git so pizen mad! 

When we is poo’ an’ ig’nant 
Den, ‘No count!’ is de cry; 

When we git sense an’ money 
Den, ‘Niggas is too high.’ 

O Dixie whiete folks, honies, 

I ax you on my knees 

What’s we poo’ niggas gwine to do 
You whiete folks fo’ to please? 

Ef you all love ole Dixie* 

We love both her an’ you; 

Ef you all want a chance in life, 

Don’t niggas want dat too?” 

“I dreampt dat dere was wa’m times in dat hall while 
I was speakin’ my piece — some o’ de whiete folks was 
lookin’ mad an’ some laughin’ fit to kill deerselves. 

“When I got thro’ de storm broke loose ! A man got 
de floo’ what was a big ’ristocrat. He made a long an’ 
mighty feelin’ speech. He closed by sayin : ‘Zeke is 
mighty presumptous to talk in dis meetin’. But he is 


120 


THE CLIMBERS 


right, we ought to continue to give his people a show. 
My father was a captain in de wah. De mornin’ o’ de 
battle o’ Sharpsburg he saed to ole Uncle Reuben Stitt, 
his body servant, “Reuben, I feel dat I ain’t gwine to 
come out o’ dis battle. Here is a purse o’ gold an’ a letta. 
You keep near me to-day, an’ ef I fall you bury my body 
an’ take de purse an’ letta home to you’ Mistis.” 

“ ‘Well, my father fell in dat battle. The faithful 
slave buried his body an’ brought home to my mother de 
purse an’ letta. In dat letta my father committed my 
mother an’ my two little brothers an’ myself to Reuben’s 
care. Faithfully that ole man worked to support us. 
Much that I am to-day, I owe to ole Uncle Reuben’s 
faithfulness. An’ I tell you, gent’men, I’ll not strike 
han’s wid anybody who wants to put anything in de way 
o’ de progress o’ de race to which ole Uncle Reuben 
belongs.’ 

“When dat man sot down de house was in tears. De 
president o’ de meetin’, wid tears in his voice, saed : ‘Zeke, 
you is de janita, an’ you didn’t have no business speakin’ 
in dis meetin’ ; but I forgive you, an’ assure you dat yo’ 
people’s frien’s in de South is mo’ dan deir enemies.’ 

“Of co’se I felt good dat de big whiete folks tuk my 
pa’t, ’cause de news o’ my speakin’ had spread like wild 
fire in town. De niggas rejoiced, but some o’ de whiete 
folks was mad. 

When de las’ speaka sot down, I seed outside whiete 
men at one o’ de doors lookin’ mad enough, so I started 
home out o’ dat hall by de back door, ’cause I was afraid. 

“Well, I had got out by a back street on my way home 
when a crowd dat looked like dey had been lookin’ fo’ me 
met me. De leader hollered : “Dah he is ! dat presumptu- 
ous fool nigga ! Kill him ! Kill him !’ 


ZEKE BROWN’S VISION 


121 


“I heerd a voice say unto me : ‘Zekiel, run fo’ yo’ life.” 

“I didn’t wait fo’ no secon’ voice. I tore down de 
street, de crowd arter me ; but chile, I jes natchely lit up 
in bird company. I run clean out o’ my shoes. De 
whiete folks stopped foller’n me at de edge o’ de town; 
but I didn’t stop till I got down in a low groun’ ’bout 
three miles from town down side o’ a lonesome woods. 
Dah I sot puffin’ an’ a-blowin’ same as a steam engine. 

“I dreampt dat I drapt off to sleep arter so long a 
time ’cause I was so tired. I slept a long while. When 
I woke up I was nigh ’bout skeered to death! fo’ dah 
stood de purty little man wid his shiny beaver on de side 
o’ his head ! He wagged his head sort o’ sassy at me an’ 
saed : ‘Heap o’ dem men dat chased you was chu’ch mem- 
bers. Didn’t I tell you dat some chu’ch members is 
’tendin’ to my business better’n I ken ’tend to it myself?’ 

“I was nigh ’bout skeered to death ! an’ started to run. 
But de ole devil hollered, ‘Stop, you ole fool you ! I don’t 
have to run arter niggas to git ’em !’ 

“Twixt de niggas dat make ’tend dey is Gawd’s ser- 
vants but ain’t, an’ dem dat commit all grades o’ sin fum 
dat o’ bein’ lazy an’ no ’count up to de crimes o’ murder 
an’ rape — I don’t have to run arter niggas; I git all de 
niggas I want ’dout havin’ to run arter ’em. 

“But mind you, all de time de ole devil was doin’ all 
dis big talk, he kept inchin’ up closa to me till he made a 
break fo’ me, an’ I tuk out an’ run. 

“I was gittin’ up a purty good gait a-runnin’ when all 
at onct I heerd somethin’ go bla-a-a-m ! bla-a-a-m ! 

“I thought sho’ ole Satan had me! But I looked up 
an’ seed de moonlight shinin’ in de room. Bless me ! ef 
I hadn’t done fell out o’ de bed on my haed. 

“Well, de folks ’gun to call me prophet arter I told my 


122 


THE CLIMBERS 


dream ; fo’ dey saed my vision meant dat I was called to 
be a preacher an* a prophet. But when I’d ’bout made 
up my mind I was sho’ ’nough called, dat no ’count nigga 
Jeta riled my soul ’bout de bes’ ooman dat evah drawed 
breath o’ life, an’ I gin him a good beatin’, an’ den de 
chu’ch tuk my deyconry away fum me. Sence dey tuk my 
deyconry, I ain’t thought no mo’ ’bout bein’ no prophet 
nor preacher nuther.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Wilson’s Ungenerous Act. 

“For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings 
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.” 

— Sonnet XXIX. — Shakespeare. 

I am afraid Wilson felt a trifle chagrined over his 
labors with Alma when he found out that she loved him. 

At first he was disposed to doubt her profession. He 
said to me : “I was thinking only of Christ, while she was 
thinking only of me.” 

“Oh, no,” said I, “I don’t think that. I think rather 
that her love for you taught her what it is to love the 
Saviour.” 

“That’s what Julia told me at church,” he replied. 

“That’s what your church folks all believe,” said I, 
“and it seems to me you are to be congratulated that it 
is so.” 

A pained look came into his face. 

“You misunderstand me,” I quickly assured him. 
“What I mean to say is, that I think you are to be con- 
gratulated that you are able to inspire a pure young 
woman with such a love as leads her to give her heart to 
the Saviour.” 

My pastor said nothing to this. His long silence 
seemed to indicate that a new idea had dawned on him. 


123 


124 


THE CLIMBERS 


I had this conversation with him Wednesday follow- 
ing the beautiful Sabbath. 

As time went on, Alma was so different — Wilson liv- 
ing in the house with her had abundant opportunity to 
mark this difference — that no one knowing her could 
doubt that she had experienced a change of heart. The 
young preacher ceased to feel chagrined that so interest- 
ing a young woman was in love with him, when Alma 
rang the true gold of the kingdom, although he declared 
that he was not interested in any woman. 

He saw just as much of Alma now, as he did when in 
season and out, he besought her to surrender herself to 
the Master. 

That young lady must, however, have made some dis- 
covery about the preacher who persisted in declaring that 
he had no interest in any woman ; for Alma’s love ceased 
to make her unhappy as it had formerly done. 

Belle had said that she hoped something would hap- 
pen to open our pastor’s eyes to his heart. Well, that 
something did happen. 

Monday, the fifteenth of July, Rev. Walter Granville’s 
church gave a steamboat excursion down the river. Now, 
who does not know that colored folks love watermelon, 
chicken and excursions? Well, if they love these three 
things more than the white people, it is doubtful if they 
get more of the three things than the white people do. 

Negroes are often scolded for the money expended on 
summer excursions. It is not to be forgotten that they 
have fewer outlets for pleasure than white people have. 
Indeed, while we laugh over the fact that colored people 
go to funerals as recreation — that is, certain classes of 
them — yet it remains true that the Negro church fur- 
nishes the principal pleasurable occasions open to the 


WILSON’S UNGENEROUS ACT 


125 


race: all the public amusements open to white people of 
the South are closed to the people of color. 

The foregoing prepared for the announcement that 
Rev. Granville’s church picnic carried an immense crowd ; 
chicken, chicken and chicken ; and so many watermelons 
that a colored green grocer, a droll wag, said: “Watermil- 
lions is gone up in price, ’cause so many darkeys has 
gone down de river.” 

Wilson was the only one of our coterie left in town. 
It will be understood that he would hardly care to go on 
Granville’s excursion. Alma did not care to go with the 
Harpers, but with Belle and myself, so that she could be 
with Julia. 

We had a most delightful time. Fairfax and his 
sweetheart were so happy that everybody remarked about 
it. It was an open secret that they were to be married 
after the opening in September of Rockford College, so 
that the faculty and such students as they desired to be 
present might attend the marriage, which was to be an 
elegant home affair. 

Mom Kitty, who was standing with Belle, Blake, 
Warren Pogue and myself, remarked, looking at Fair- 
fax and Julia: “Ain’t dem chillun happy?” 

“Yes,” replied Blake with a sigh, “very happy indeed.” 

“Hit does my soul good to see ’em so happy,” con- 
tinued she, with sweet motherliness. 

A look flashed between Belle and myself as we saw 
Pogue flush in silence, while around handsome Blake’s 
mouth lurked a sardonic smile. Apropos of Julia’s en- 
gagement, a white man, one of the trustees of Rockford 
College, remarked at commencement: “I can’t see why 
she accepted the blackest one of all her suitors.” 

Blake was Julia’s own color, while Pogue looked what 


126 


THE CLIMBERS 


he was ; he was Dr. Warren Pogue’s son, and his mother 
was an octoroon. Mrs. Holt, I fear, held the white man’s 
view about her step-daughter’s preference; but who can 
give the why of any woman’s choice? Or, for that mat- 
ter, of any heart’s choice of a mate? 

We had a most delightful day off on the historic river 
and in the pleasant wood where the picnic was held. 
The excursionists were due in Rockford at seven o’clock 
that evening, but we did not get back until nine-thirty. 
The cause of this is, that we had a slight breakdown. 
This, however, was soon repaired; but when the news 
of the trifling accident reached town, it had grown, as 
traveling news has a trick of doing, out of all semblance 
of the truth. The rumor of our mishap gathered as it 
rolled, so that when it reached Rockford this is the size 
of it: “The boat has sunk; lots of folks have been 
drowned !” 

Now, although the exact truth came lagging into town 
some time after the wild-eyed, dishevelled rumor, never- 
theless, when our steamboat sided up to the wharf, a 
large, anxious crowd were awaiting it. 

Wilson was in the assemblage. The rumor that had 
smitten colored Rockford had evidently hit my dear pas- 
tor and classmate so hard as to open his blinded eyes to 
his own heart. Zeke Brown told me afterwards in great 
glee: “I seed Elda Wilson gwine down town like ole 
Satan was arter him ! I tried to run on wid him fo’ walk- 
in’ so fast. I saed : “Hold on dah, Elda ! — take yo’ time ! 
Don’t you know you is free? You is dressed up like a 
white man, but runnin’ like a nigga !” 

Jake Simpson said to me: “Hush man! Don’t you 
know de boat done sunk?” 

“Dat was de fust o’ my hearin* de news ; but Lawsee 


WILSON’S UNGENEROUS ACT 


127 


man! Elda Wilson was gwine down town dat fas’ dat 
he didn't pay a bit mo' ’tention to me dan a rabbit!” 

Well, to make a long story short, “de Elda” had a 
carriage at the wharf; and then and there Wilson did 
the only ungenerous thing I ever knew him to do. 

Mr. and Mrs. Harper were there ready to go home. 
He had a double-horse, four-seated landau. Did my pas- 
tor offer Mr. and Mrs. Harper seats in his carriage? 
Not a bit of it! He took only Alma home in it! After- 
wards, he told me in high feather that, although the 
hackman drove like Jehu, nevertheless, before they got 
to Harper’s Gate, it was all settled that his convert, over 
whom he had worked so faithfully, was to be his wife. 

“Wade, old boy! I don’t blame you folks for laugh- 
ing at me. As I look back over my experience with 
Alma, I have to laugh at myself! But Wade, old fel- 
low, I’m not blind now ! ‘Alma is,’ as Zeke Brown would 
say, ‘jes de sweetis thing dat evah drawed breath!”’ 

We were all happy in our dear pastor’s happiness. 





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BOOK FOUR. 

Days of Waiting. 

“O leal heart! O pure heart! 

0 royal heart and true! 

To make more bright 
The day’s sweet light 

1 watch and wait for you.” 

E. N. Gunnison. 































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CHAPTER XX. 

How A ‘‘Friend of the Peopul” Made Himself. 

“Why should the poor be flattered? 

No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, 

And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee 
Where thrift may follow fawning.” 

Hamlet. 

Soon after Rockford commencement the Hon. Nathan 
F. Cleggett had been moved by his hurt of heart over 
Negro uplifting to vow to introduce a bill in the coming 
session of the legislature to turn the institution into an 
asylum for the colored insane now confined in jails. 

The proposal of this magnanimous solon had been 
pretty thoroughly ventilated by the State press since 
commencement. This chivalrous gentleman was evi- 
dently seeking popularity by kicking the Negro; but the 
high-souled law-maker found that he was about to miss 
his aim. The trouble was, that this gallant member of 
the Assembly proposed to kick the black man too hard. 
There were a large class of people whose sense of fair 
play would not allow them to stand for kicking the peo- 
ple of color of the State. Still others felt that the State 
would be ashamed in the eyes of the nation by such an 
injustice. Yet another class believed that while Negro 
education, both lower and higher, is a gratuity, neverthe- 
less that it is beneath the dignity of the Anglo-Saxon 

131 


132 


THE CLIMBERS 


to withhold this boon from those he considers his infe- 
riors. Still another class felt that Negroes must be 
uplifted by the white people, or else they would drag the 
white people down. 

By autumn the statesman Cleggett was thoroughly 
convinced that in threatening to turn Rockford into an 
insane asylum, he had bitten off more than he could 
chew. Just as thoroughly was he convinced that if he 
was to make the port for which he had set sail (namely, 
to land in the harbor of political prominence and power), 
he must tack, and tack quick, to catch the strong wind 
of public opinion. 

This he did. 

He saw that the people of the State were against his 
chivalrous proposal to pluck up Rockford College by the 
roots. If he was not to be relegated to his native obscur- 
ity, he must find some way to let himself down easy, and 
still on his feet. Well, now how did this great “friend of 
the pepul” manage to let himself down easy? Simply 
enough. 

He told the absolute truth. He said his primary 
desire was not the destruction of Rockford College (that 
was the truth), but (and this was not) his real object was 
to focus attention on Rockford College so that the white 
people could decide whether or not it was wise to spend 
money for Negro higher education when the State had so 
many other demands upon it. 

The springing of the Negro higher education issue was 
a master stroke. It brought the feline law-maker down on 
his feet, not only easy, but firm. (To change the figure), 
he found his sail bellied with the strong wind of popular 
approval. He felt sure that by January he who proposed 
that Rockford College should cease to be a college and 


FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE 5 


133 


become simply an industrial normal school, he felt sure 
that the man who championed the measure would cer- 
tainly make the harbor. Yes, this political tumble bug 
(and you know the tumble bug works in filth; it rolls 
together a ball of filth in which it deposits its eggs) had, 
by kicking a lowly people, secured his future. 

Of course, as Holt and the colored people had put 
forth most strenuous efforts to keep Rockford from being 
turned into an asylum, so now they had done all in their 
power to keep it from being turned into simply a normal 
and industrial school. 

To avert the destruction of Rockford, Fairfax had 
seen the Attorney-General and Wilson, the kind-hearted 
Governor. The latter gentleman, notwithstanding his 
theory that Negro education is a gratuity, was quite hot 
in his opposition to converting the college into an asylum. 

He went so far as to say that any white gentleman 
(and gentleman in his mouth meant aristocrat) ought to 
be above advocating any such scheme. Now, the Hon. 
Nathan F. Cleggett was one of the South’s new men. 
Zeke Brown called him “one o’ dem rich poo’ white folks 
dat ain’t used to nothin’ ’t all.” 

The Governor’s outspoken opposition to Cleggett’s 
project led Holt to expect the support of the chief execu- 
tive and the aristocrats in retaining Rockford’s college 
department. 

When the president saw His Excellency, however, 
Holt found him noncommittal on the higher education 
question. He said to my classmate : “I’m a friend to 
your race and to the school; but since the white people 
pay most of the taxes, you people had better let well 
enough alone about Rockford College ; you’d better let 
the taking out of the college course alone for fear the 


134 


THE CLIMBERS 


white people will get angry and tear up the whole school 
by the roots, as Mr. Cleggett first proposed.” 

You can imagine that after hearing the most staunch 
champion of our school talk that way, you can imagine 
that Holt did not have much hope of retaining the college 
course ; however, the president thought it wise to do his 
best to avert the change threatened; so he had asked 
both Fairfax and Wilson to go to the capital. 

Waiting were the professor and the minister to be 
sent for in the interest of retaining Rockford’s higher 
course. 


CHAPTER XXL 

Monday, September The Twenty-Sixth. 

“I love thee — I love thee! 

Tis all that I can say; 

It is my vision in the night 
My dreaming in the day.” 

Hood. 

Twas Monday, September twenty-sixth. Rockford 
College had been in session three weeks. Autumn has 
been sung thus: “The melancholy days have come, the 
saddest of the year.” 

But it was of a Northern autumn and the month of 
November, too, at that, which Bryant sang as “the mel- 
ancholy days.” 

You could hardly get any Rockforder (certainly not 
any one with any sense of beauty in his or her soul) to 
agree that these closing days of September were the sad- 
dest of the year. No ; for the frosts had turned the for- 
ests into a fairyland of gold and green, a variegated mass 
of color that beneath the cloudless sunshine reminded one 
of the Eleysian fields of the classic Greeks. 

Now, whoever else might regard those autumn days 
as “melancholy,” it is certain that Professor Fairfax and 
Miss Julia Holt did not so regard those days which wit- 
nessed the issuing of their wedding invitations. 

These went out on Wednesday, the twentieth. In the 
Holt home, which had been tastefully decorated for the 

i35 


136 


THE CLIMBERS 


occasion, the grand affair was to take place Thursday, 
the twenty-ninth, in the parlor in the recess of the large 
bay-window, the bride and groom standing under a flower 
bell and facing the window, where was to stand the 
celebrant of the marriage, President David J. Holt. (I 
wonder how a man feels marrying his own daughter?) 

Several were to wait on the couple ; but Wilson was to 
be the best man, and Alma best maid ; Julia’s sisters, Olga 
and Gladys, aged six and seven, were to be flower girls, 
while on the piano in the broad hall, down into which 
came the wide stairway, Belle was to play the wedding 
march from Lohengrin. 

Two hundred invitations had been given to the house ; 
announcement cards were to be issued. Everybody of 
note in colored Rockford society, some students, and all 
the faculty of Rockford College were bidden. Mrs. Holt 
wanted to have a wedding supper, but her husband said 
he was satisfied that the refreshments should be cake and 
cream. The new couple were to have a room in Rock- 
ford college as all the teachers, for the sake of discipline, 
were required to do. 

Monday night, September twenty-sixth, Belle gave a 
bridesmaids’ tea. I called it a hen-party, because Belle 
decreed that no man should be present — not even myself. 

Julia, Mrs. Holt, Alma, all the bridesmaids and even 
little Olga and Gladys were present. They had a fine 
supper and a jolly time. 

Of course the affair came off early in the evening. 

Holt was to go over for his wife and little girls, but 
Julia was to stay all night with Belle. 

That very morning, Wilson and Fairfax had been 
called to the State capitol in the interest of Rockford Col- 
lege higher course. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A Wedding Gift. 

“Yet heed thou wisely these; give seldom to thy better; 

For such obtrusive boon shall savor of presumption.” 

“Moreover, heed then this; give to thine equal charily.” 

Tupper. 

The Romans and the Greeks worshipped idols of wood 
and stone. 

The dog, the cat, the bull — these were gods among the 
still more refined ancient Egyptians. 

Why did so refined a folk as the Greeks bow down to 
wood and stone? Why were the wonderfully artistic 
ancient dwellers on the Nile such gross nature wor- 
shippers? 

At first blush this may seem strange; but you have 
only to look around you to see the reason why these peo- 
ples bowed down before objects so ignoble. Both the 
dwellers in Hellas and those on the Nile bowed before 
objects at first intended as symbols of either the Deity or 
of some benevolent or malevolent power of supposed 
divine origin. But after the lapse of time, the idea which 
was symbolized was forgotten ; then there remained noth- 
ing but the symbol. 

In all religious and social affairs how easy it is to for- 
get the idea for which a form or symbol stands! How 

137 


138 


THE CLIMBERS 


easy it is to degenerate into holding on simply to forms 
and symbols! 

These holidays — Thanksgiving, Christmas and Eas- 
ter — what are they to the vast majority but empty sym- 
bols, meaningless ceremonies, idealess, heartless forms! 

So it is with many social customs. A wedding gift 
ought to mean love. How often it means fear — the fear 
of being considered short if one is not sent when an invi- 
tation is received. 

How often wedding invitations are sent out in the 
spirit of greed. This is frequently just as surely the 
meaning of a wedding invitation as if it was printed on 
that invitation: “Please bring or send a present; silver 
is preferred.” 

Holt insisted that Julia’s invitations should be verbal. 
He said to me: “I told Myrtle that she wanted to send 
cards to everybody she ever heard of so as to reap a rich 
harvest of presents. Julia feels about the matter as I do.” 

Now it cannot be denied that even a few verbal invi- 
tations brought in a rich harvest of presents; but while 
there was some “toadying,” as there will be on all such 
occasions, yet what President Holt said is a fair indica- 
tion that the Fairfax-Holt verbal invitations were not 
sent in the highwayman spirit of “stand and deliver.” 

But as has been said among colored people as among 
white folks, there is plenty of “toadying.” Some, there- 
fore, sent presents to the presidential residence of Rock- 
ford College principally because it would never do in the 
world not be to be connected with the wedding of the 
accomplished daughter of a college president who was to 
give her hand to one of the most brilliant men of the 
race. 

Some other presents were sent by people not in what 


A WEDDING GIFT 


139 


may be called the social four hundred, but by people who 
wished to pay their respects to the college president who 
did not think the lowliest of his race beneath his notice, 
and to show love for the kind hearted mother and the 
lovely bride-elect who had helped so many by sympathy 
and material gifts — not letting the left hand know what 
the right did. 

How did I know about Julia’s presents, do you ask? 
Well, I saw them daily. 

The girls’ matron, Mrs. Ada Harmon, was a well-to-do 
widow in middle life whose husband left her a well- 
stocked farm; rather left her and her only child, a girl 
of nine. 

Mrs. Harmon, during the vacation, had so given her 
energy to the superintendence of her farm that she 
returned to Rockford at the opening of the term run 
down physically and mentally. Typhoid fever had fas- 
tened upon her by the time the invitations were out, and, 
consequently, I was at Rockford College sometimes twice 
a day to see Mrs. Harmon. Both Julia and her parents, 
if I visited the presidential residence, showed me the gifts 
that came in — rich and quite varied were the gifts dis- 
played on a large mahogany table in a corner of the par- 
lor on the opposite side of the hall from the parlor in 
whose bay-window the ceremony was to be performed. 

Monday night, the twenty-sixth, Mrs. Harmon grew 
worse, and a messenger was sent for me, who arrived at 
my house just as President Holt drove up in a closed car- 
riage to take his wife and little girls home from the 
bridesmaids’ tea. 

I always hate to hitch up my horse. That I would 
have had to do that night if I drove over to the college, 
for my boy had gone home. President and Mrs. Holt 


140 


THE CLIMBERS 


offered me a seat in their carriage, but I declined, because 
I feared I'd crush the little girls' dresses if all of us 
crowded into the carriage ; but rather than either to hitch 
up my horse or to walk to Rockford College, I accepted 
Holt's invitation to go with him, by climbing up and rid- 
ing with the hackman. When we got to the college, Holt 
went into the house and hurried the little girls off to bed, 
while Mrs. Holt went on into the college building with 
me into the sick room. 

You know, in typhoid fever the temperature rises at 
night. Mrs. Harmon’s would continue to rise higher each 
night until the disease reached its climax. Hers had not 
yet reached its crisis. I was not, therefore, alarmed at 
her condition, so did what I could to relieve her, and to 
reassure those who attended the sick lady. 

I had accompanied Mrs. Holt to the steps of their 
porch and was about to return to town when she urged 
me to come to see the very handsome present from Mr. 
Warren Pogue, which had been received just before she, 
Julia, and the little girls had started to my house for tea. 
Holt, from the porch, heard her invitation and went into 
the parlor where the presents were, and lit the gas. 

We three were standing at the mahogany table admir- 
ing Pogue’s present, a handsome tea service that must 
have cost twenty-five dollars, when Mrs. Holt's eyes 
fell on a bundle — a present that must have arrived 
even since the husband went to town after the 
wife and little girls. Hastily she tore open the bun- 
dle. The present proved to be from Zeke Brown, cer- 
tainly not one of Rockford's four hundred. He had sent 
a gift that expressed his appreciation of the kindly notice 
of him by the Holts, and the Norwalk coterie’s sympa- 
thetic hearing of his tale of how he lost what he called 


A WEDDING GIFT 


141 

“my deyconry.” He had had retouched an old likeness 
of the wife of his youth. This he had put in a silver 
frame. 

“My lost Eliza” was written on a card tacked in one 
side of the frame. 

Our three heads together, we gazed on that photo- 
graph. Then, in silence, we looked into each other’s 
astonished eyes. 

Mrs. Holt broke the silence. “Now, Dave! what did 
I tell you?” 

Her lips quivered. 

“Look at that chin, Joe Wade! Don’t you see that’s 
Gus’s mother? I’ve told you, Dave Holt, a hundred 
times that Augustus Fairfax is Jeter Horn’s son! 

And down she flung herself in tears in a chair. 

There was no denying what she said. The likeness 
between the pictured face and Fairfax’s was too startling 
to be accounted for in any other way. I had suspected 
the truth. Holt had, too; nevertheless, we were deeply 
moved as we stood gazing at each other and at Mrs. 
Holt weeping in the chair. Suddenly she leaped to her 
feet and, pointing a finger at her husband, said, in a voice 
hoarse with feeling: “Dave Holt, if you had listened to 
me, Julia would be engaged to someone else!” 

I saw Holt’s back stiffen: “Myrtle! calm yourself!” 
came in measured, masterful tones. 

“I’ve told you a dozen times that Gus is no stranger to 
us. We know what he is no matter who his father is, 
and Julia herself shall decide whether or not she will 
marry him.” 

“My God! old drunken Jeter Horn’s son for my son- 
in-law,” she cried, wringing her hands and flinging her- 
self into a chair. 


142 


THE CLIMBERS 


“Myrtle! be careful of what you say! You will be 
sorry for your words some day.” 

“Oh, Dave ! if you had only listened to me, if you had 
only just listened! ” 

“Well, if I had, my dear, how would that have helped 
the matter?” 

Moaned she: “Oh, Julia might have been engaged to 
someone else !” 

“Yes, to Warren Pogue; and you know you would be 
perfectly satisfied if she were, although he, too, is a 
drunkard’s son.” 

She leaped to her feet and said, as she flashed out of 
the room: “Dave, you know I am not prejudiced to 
color !” 

I thought it was time for me to leave too. As I went 
towards the steps, Holt wrung my hand and asked : “Joe, 
don’t you think I’m right to let Julia decide for herself?” 

“I do, indeed, Holt. And furthermore, I think the 
thing to do is to keep quiet. Fairfax has not the slight- 
est suspicion of the truth ; neither has Zeke, for he thinks 
Jeter’s lost child is a girl. I wouldn’t even tell Julia 
about it. If she does not discover it from the picture, 
so well — so good. If she does, then I’d let her decide 
for herself.” 

“Those are just my views of it, Joe.” 

Wringing my hand, he said: “Joe, I am burdened, 
burdened ! Come in to see us when you come over in the 
morning. Now, good-night, Joe ; I must go and hunt up 
Myrtle.” 

“Good-night,” I replied, holding his hand in a long, 
silent clasp. 

The night was crisp and cloudless. 

I, too, was burdened as I started to walk home, where 


A WEDDING GIFT 


143 


Julia was with my wife. I hoped Belle and I never would 
have such a disagreement as I had just witnessed between 
my friends. 

As I walked beneath the silver stars, I thought that if 
they control human fate, as the ancients said they do, I 
felt that the stars were busy, very busy that night with 
the fate, the happiness of Holt and his wife, and of Julia 
and her affianced. 

Who could tell what a day would bring forth ? 

I saw nothing of Julia nor of Belle either that night, 
for they slept together. However, I heard a-plenty of 
them both, for, girl like, Belle and Julia talked nearly all 
night. 

My thoughts about what I had on my heart how- 
ever, kept me awake rather than the droning of the voices 
in an adjoining room. 








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CHAPTER XXIII. 

Much Land Yet To Be Possessed. 

“There remaineth yet very much land to be possessed.” 

Josh. 13:1. 

Yes, so long I kept awake Monday night between the 
burden on my heart and the talking of Belle and Julia, 
that I overslept myself Tuesday morning. 

When I got up, the boy had made the fire, attended 
to the horse and Belle had almost got breakfast. Every- 
thing was all straight in the house, though we had had a 
party; because Belle had got Sister Adeline Hood, as it 
was her custom to do in an emergency, to help her clean 
up. My wife would not let me get a cook for her, though 
I was willing and able to do so. Colored people don't 
usually like to work for their own color. They feel it to 
be a humiliation to do so. Then, too, some colored em- 
ployers are so afraid that a domestic will encroach on 
their dignity that well-to-do colored employers often 
prove the hardest masters. 

What with the colored employers' morbid fear for 
their dignity, and the feeling of the average wage earner 
that it is a humiliation to work for one’s own color, as big 
a bugaboo as the domestic servant question is with white 
employers, it is a still bigger one with colored people who 
must employ help. Southern people have generated a 

*43 


146 


THE CLIMBERS 


good bit of heat over the domestic servant question. One 
lady of Rockford wrote a newspaper article in which she 
blamed all the troubles on Negro education. 

Asked she quite bitterly in this article: “Are white 
men going to continue to educate Negroes, when their 
wives have to go into the kitchen because you can’t get 
a decent Negro that has been educated to be a domestic?” 

There is no use in any one’s getting red in the face 
over the fact the foregoing questions revealed. What 
fact does the query reveal? This : that no Negro becomes 
a domestic if that person can find other employment. 

Now, ought any one to blame people of color for pre- 
fering not to be servants, especially if they have by edu- 
cation, been fitted to work for themselves? White people 
that can do something else do not prefer to be domestics ; 
and human nature is but human nature ! 

There are, however, special reasons why no Negro 
becomes a servant if she or he can help it. 

One is, that slavery has dishonored manual toil in the 
South. White people are quite sensitive about the mat- 
ter of manual labor — indeed, so much so that it is almost 
impossible to get white men and women to engage in cer- 
tain kinds of manual labor which, for time immemorial, 
has been done by dusky hands. Now, while both white 
and black Southern folks are learning to set a higher 
estimate on manual toil, yet with reference to the mat- 
ter of their estimate of labor’s dignity, “There remaineth 
yet very much land to be possessed.” 

Then, too, another thing that makes the servant ques- 
tion a burning one, is that in the South domestic wages 
are poor, and the South’s treatment of the dusky domes- 
tics is what might be expected from employers less than 


MUCH LAND YET TO BE POSSESSED 


147 


a half century from Negro slavery. Because Dixie has 
been living on Ham’s enforced labor, and has had the 
sun-kissed folk wholly at her mercy, the Southland has 
no deep sense of how poorly she pays, and how badly 
she treats her domestics. Slavery, in the master class, 
fosters emperious arrogance, and in the slave class, ser- 
vility; so that it is not strange that the South is impa- 
tient that the Negro domestic is disposed to resent now 
treatment that Dixie from time out of memory has 
thought it her privilege to mete out to her black toilers. 

Now while it is true that stern necessity, the fruitful 
mother of invention, has taught Anglo-Saxons that live 
South of Mason’s and Dixon’s line much about payment 
and treatment of Negro domestics that the white people 
of this section never knew before Appomattox, yet, nev- 
ertheless, as regards wages and treatment of servants, for 
the Southern people: “There remaineth yet very much 
land to be possessed.” 

The whole servant question is a matter of the Golden 
Rule. If people will only, in imagniation, put themselves 
in the domestics’ place, pay them better and treat them 
better, they will get a higher grade of domestics and so 
better service ; for less and less will it be true that only 
the least intelligent and least reliable element of the race 
will hire out in domestic service. 

I had a boy to attend my horse, bring in water and 
fuel and to make fires ; but Belle preferred to do her own 
housework. A white woman in her position would think 
her dignity demanded at least one, if not two, servants. 
That is why a Southern Negro that does mental work 
will often save money on an income on which a South- 
ern white man in like position will barely eke out an 
existence. 






























































































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CHAPTER XXIV. 


“O Fond Dove.” 

“Let me alone, the dream is my own 
And the heart is full of rest.” 

Jean Ingelow. 

As I started to say, Belle, leaving Julia in the guest 
chamber, when I got up had breakfast almost ready. 

I went into my office, intending to go into the kitchen 
to greet my wife. But I was beguiled to sit down at my 
work to skim my Medical Journal. I had barely time to 
open it when Belle heard me ; and my “Heaven’s last best 
gift to man” came rushing into my office, plumped her lit- 
tle self on my knee and gave me such a soulful labial 
morning salutation as makes life worth living. 

Belle left me to return to the kitchen. Upon putting 
my hand in my breast coat pocket I fished out two let- 
ters that my wife had given me the night before to post. 
The cat would be out of the bag about my lapse of mem- 
ory if I called the boy to mail them. Instead, therefore, 
I put on my hat and softly stepped out to go to the Star 
mail box two squares down the street, opposite Mc-CalFs 
tobacco factory. 

An early accident to a laborer at this factory, how- 
ever, deprived me of the pleasure of breakfasting with 
the two sweet ladies at my house. My services were 
called for a boy who had got his leg broken by an ele- 

149 


THE CLIMBERS 


150 

vator. I sent home for my satchel containing what I 
needed, with word to Belle not to wait breakfast for me. 

It was nine o’clock by the time I had done what I 
could for the injured youth and returned home. As I 
entered the gate, I heard Belle accompany Julia in “O 
Fair Dove ! O Fond Dove !” Unseen by either of them, I 
stole by the back hall up to the half-open parlor door, 
and, through the crack, saw Belle’s shapely fingers glid- 
ing carelessly over the piano keys, while as the cloud- 
less morning flooded the beautiful parlor, with her head 
thrown back, her eyes looking into vacancy, stood Julia 
facing me, her mellow contralto voice flooding the air 
with these dreamy words of that plaintive song : 

“My love he stood at my right hand, 

His eyes were grave and sweet; 

Methought he said, in this fair land 
O! is it thus we meet? 

Ah! maid most dear, I am not here; 

I have no place, no part, 

No dwelling more, by sea or shore, 

But only in thy heart. 

O Fair Dove! O Fond Dove! 

Till night rose o’er the bourne 

The dove on the mast, as we sailed fast, 

Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn.” 

The perfect sympathetic accompaniment, the rapt, 
tense pose and the feeling, surcharged voice of the sing- 
er — how it all thrilled me! Was that song of hopeless 
love prophetic? Would Julia be a fair, fond mourning 
dove when she came to know what I already knew? 

These reflections were cut short, however, when the 
piano ceased and I was discovered eavesdropping and 
overwhelmed with questions about the accident and with 
sympathy for not having had my breakfast. Even as 


O FOND DOVE” 


I5i 


Belle hurried off to get my dejeuner word came that the 
closed carriage Julia had ordered to take her home at 
half-past eleven would be on hand according to order. 

Often colored people complain that the element of the 
race that are most intelligent and law-abiding get scant 
notice by the Southern newspaper press; whereas, the 
disreputable and criminal element are kept constantly 
before the public gaze. 

While it is to be feared that in this matter there is 
“method in the Souths madness,” nevertheless the thing 
complained of is not to be set down wholly to race 
prejudice. 

It’s a fact patent to careful observers that the best 
things and people never figure as largely in the public 
prints as do things and persons less worthy. The rea- 
son of this is that goodness, the every day, the usual do 
not constitute news, but rather what is unusual and out 
of the ordinary. History, says one, is an account not of 
the doings but of the undoings of men. Accordingly, 
some one else has said : “Blessed is the nation whose 
annals are brief.” Brief are the annals of Rome during 
the age of the Antoines, one of the happiest eras of the 
Roman Empire. 

Blessed indeed, therefore, are those days in one’s life 
when there is no news, because nothing unusual has hap- 
pened; but instead, the current of one’s life has flowed 
uninterruptedly on. Until something interrupts the flow 
of one’s life, we are apt to forget how placid is that flow 
and to underestimate the strength of the current. So, 
too, we may underrate the depth and strength of the 
stream of love until the current encounters let or hin- 
drance. 

Above the Falls, where the Niagara River is not inter- 


152 


THE CLIMBERS 


rupted, that stream is placid and commonplace — not 
unlike a thousand other rivers of the world; but Niagara, 
interrupted by its sheer leap down a precipice of one hun- 
dred and sixty feet, becomes a world wonder, sublime and 
awe-inspiring ! 

Julia’s love as I saw it at nine o’clock when, in mellow 
voice, she poured out “O Fond Dove” — Julia’s love was 
calm and ordinary; but Niagara Falls, magnificent in 
power, did I behold Julia’s love at twelve o’clock in her 
father’s house. 

My services at McCall’s factory made me late in all 
my morning work. Hence, it was that Julia’s carriage 
went up the hill to the campus in front of me as I was 
making my usual morning visit to Mrs. Harmon. Hav- 
ing seen that lady, I was about to drop into Holt’s to 
talk over matters, as the night before my friend had 
requested me to do. 

He spied me from his office in the college building, 
and, as the dinner bell had rung, he made his way home. 
Also Mrs. Holt saw me coming and was coming to let 
me in; so that she, her husband and myself met in the 
broad hall, she in the door of the north parlor, and Holt 
and myself by the door of the south parlor. 

In the instant of our meeting, Julia was coming down 
the broad stairs to meet her father, whom she had not 
seen since last night. She had Zeke Brown’s present, the 
picture, in her hand; and in her hazel eyes, now dark 
with feeling, the humiliating discovery that her affianced 
is Eliza’s child and, therefore, old drunken, disreputable 
Jeter Horn’s lost son. Evidently her lover’s likeness to 
Eliza and his mental resemblance to Jeter which, she had 
noted so often with uneasiness, she could explain upon 
no other hypothesis than that her promised husband was 


O FOND DOVE’ 


153 


the lost child, and that Zeke Brown was mistaken in sup- 
posing that lost child was a girl. Now the Holts were 
proud of their family’s respectability; evidently then, 
when the unwelcome truth that she was bound by prom- 
ise to the besotted pauper’s son was thrust upon the 
proud girl, she fled to her room, taking the picture with 
her, there to fight her battle alone. 

Now coming to meet her father with the humbling 
news, she was at the foot of the steps, the fateful present 
in her trembling grasp. There all four of us stood in 
silence. 

Julia’s eyes began to travel backward and forward 
between her stepmother, standing in the door of the 
north parlor, and her father and myself, standing in the 
door of the south parlor. What in her mother’s face did 
the girl discover, in the face of the mother who, all along, 
had been tacitly opposed to Fairfax on account of his 
color? Whatever she saw made her turn from her step- 
mother to her father and fling herself in his arms, hiding 
her face on his bosom, the while her lithe frame con- 
vulsed with silent weeping. 

How gently, in tender voice, he patted and soothed 
her! 

The step-mother, with high head and blazing eyes, 
disappeared into the study! 

A moment later, back in flight to her room Julia’s 
sylph-like figure was also disappearing up the stairway 
two steps at a single bound; she was sobbing, not loud 
but deep. We two meanwhile stood in awkward silence 
in the hall where we had been left by the daughter whose 
pride was sore wounded, and the step-mother as resent- 
ful towards the bride-elect as if she had purposely sought 
to discredit the family. 


154 


THE CLIMBERS 


Holt broke the silence between us. He asked in thick 
voice, with an irrelevance that would have been laugh- 
able had it not been so sad : “Joe, won’t you stay and take 
dinner with us?” 

“No, I thank you, Dave; Belle will be expecting me 
home.” 

A silent hand-clasp between us; and, a few minutes 
later, I was in my buggy on the way home to Belle, won- 
dering whether or not there would be a wedding. The 
Holts were proud, Julia the proudest of the three. 


BOOK FIVE. 

“As The Tents Of Kedar ” 


“I am black, but comely, O ye daughters 
Of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar.” 





Chapter XXV. 

Tidings. 

“If thou seest the oppression of the poor, 

And violent perverting of judgment 
And justice in a province, 

Marvel not at the matter; 

For He that is higher than the highest regardeth; 

And there be higher than they.” 

Ecc. 5:8. 

Holt was anxious for the tidings from the capital 
about Rockford College course ; so eager that he met the 
three-thirty train on which Wilson and Fairfax were to 
return Tuesday afternoon. The professor got left, how- 
ever, and consequently would not arrive until the next 
train, at five-fifteen; so that it fell to the minister’s lot 
to apprise the president of the outcome of the mission — 
Fairfax, to the Attorney-General, and Wilson, to the 
Governor, which two gentlemen, with the Superintend- 
ent of Public Instruction, constituted the State Board of 
Education. 

The Governor, as has been intimated, was a fair- 
minded man and a friend to the race; but while he per- 
sonally was in favor of the State continuing to provide 
higher education for the Negro as it did for the white 
race, he did not encourage Wilson to hope that the col- 
lege course would be retained, because public opinion was 

iS7 


158 


THE CLIMBERS 


in favor of providing only industrial education for colored 
people; and he thought the coming legislature hoped to 
make itself a name that would give the party faction 
which it represented a new lease on power in the State. 
As His Excellency was not of that faction, he feared he 
would not be able to do much with the incoming legisla- 
ture. 

The Attorney - General was more optimistic. He 
pledged himself to do all he could to have the college 
retained. He did not himself think that sober, conserva- 
tive public opinion was against Negro higher education. 

He believed that thoughtful people felt that Negroes 
needed, and can take the same kind of training white peo- 
ple need and get. 

The Superintendent of Public Instruction, whom Fair- 
fax and Wilson saw jointly, was quite hot against Cleg- 
gett, who had precipitated the whole discussion about 
Rockford College. He went so far as to call him a con- 
temptible nobody who had raised the issue, not because 
he was interested in public welfare, but simply to stir up 
race feeling for his own political advancement. The 
Superintendent, as he bade Wilson and Fairfax good-bye, 
called attention to his often expressed position regarding 
education, which is this: “The best education the State 
can afford for every child, white and black.” 

Holt felt encouraged. He believed the chances were 
pretty good for the retention of the college course, since 
both the Superintendent of Public Instruction and the 
Attorney-General belonged to the faction that controlled 
the incoming legislature, and the Attorney-General 
would probably be the next Governor of the State. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 
A Man. 


“Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; 

Take honor from me, and my life is done.” 

Rich. II., Act. I. — Scene I. 

Of course I emptied myself to Belle when I went 
home to dinner Tuesday. 

We had often talked over Fairfax’s case, especially 
after what we had learned by the talk together of Mom 
Kitty and Juddy Hill on commencement day. I had not, 
however, discussed the Zeke Brown present episode with 
her, for the reason that Julia’s being with my wfie Mon- 
day night and Tuesday morning up until I went out on 
my daily calls gave us no opportunity to do so, privately ; 
and our loyalty to our little friend sealed our lips about 
the matter. 

She might never have made the discovery. If she 
had not, and Gus had not, we never would have breathed 
the affair. But now she had unearthed the secret and 
was miserable beyond words. Mrs. Holt’s lack of sym- 
pathy with Julia in her crucial hour made her turn to 
Belle. I imagine the Holts had quite a stormy time after 
I left — Mrs. Holt insisting that her husband should call 
off the marriage, but he insisting that Gus and Julia alone 
should decide whether or not the marriage should take 

159 


i6o 


THE CLIMBERS 


place. The bride in her anguished perplexity had asked 
my wife to go over to Rockford College Tuesday night. 
I had taken Belle over about eight o'clock. Belle and 
Julia were closeted in the room of the fiancee. Mrs. Holt 
and myself had a long talk over the affair, her husband (a 
thing unusual) being busy in his office in the college 
building. 

I don't know whether he was out of the house because 
he was so busy, or perplexed, or because the relations 
between himself and wife over Julia’s case were a little 
strained. 

As I started to say, she and I had a long heart-to- 
heart talk about Julia's affair, such as is possible only to 
life-long friends. At first, she was disposed to pitch into 
me for siding with her husband ; but I think I succeeded 
in convincing her (at least she said she was convinced) 
that Holt's proposal to let Julia and her lover decide for 
themselves was the wisest course. 

This was after we had talked an hour and a half and 
I was about to go and hunt up Holt. Just as I got seated 
in his office, there was another knock at the door. 

“Why, it's you, professor," said Holt, opening the 
door and letting Fairfax in, extending the young man a 
warm hand. 

“I haven't seen you since you came back from the 
capital; but Wilson told me all about it." 

“No, sir, I missed the train." 

“Have a seat, won't you?" said Holt, pushing out a 
chair. 

“I haven't seen you either, Gus," said I, shaking his 
hand heartily, so heartily that he looked at me curiously 
and said : “Oh, I haven’t been gone so long or so far." 

“No," said Holt, “but you went far enough to do the 


A MAN 


161 


school a great service. I was just writing some impor- 
tant letters about the matter; and I want to thank you 
for going to the capital.” 

“I am glad I have been of service to you ; but I did not 
call to see you about that,” continued Fairfax, rising. “I 
was on my way to the house to see you; I saw a light 
in here, but I didn’t expect to find anyone with you. I 
came to see about a personal matter.” Then there was 
silence, in which he looked at me. I stood up as if to go. 

“All right, professor, I suppose you want to see me 
alone.” 

“Dr. Wade can stay, Mr. President, unless you ob- 
ject,” said Fairfax; “in fact, I would rather he would 
stay.” 

“Very well,” said Holt. 

“I have something to show you,” he said, advancing 
towards Holt and handing my classmate a companion 
picture to the one sent Julia. Holt took it and looked 
at it long and curiously in surprise, while Fairfax and 
myself watched him in silence. 

In a voice of suppressed feeling the young professor 
asked : “Did you notice anything peculiar about the pic- 
ture ?” 

“Well, yes, I — I think I do, professor,” hesitated Holt. 

He drew a step closer to the president and, with some- 
thing of the confidingness of his boyish days when he 
used to go to Holt with his troubles, he said with all his 
soul in his voice: “Mr. Holt, that’s my mother’s picture 
that Zeke Brown sent me as a wedding present! I am 
anonymous no longer. Jeter Horn is my father — I 
remember her. I’ve come to say this — this because of 
Julia !” 

Here his feelings stopped him. We were both full. 


162 


THE CLIMBERS 


“Mr. Holt/’ continued he, regaining self-control, “I 
don't think if you had known you would have been will- 
ing for me to enter your family ; and while I feel that I 
am just as good as anybody that walks God’s green earth” 
— and here he straightened up and looked Holt straight in 
the eyes — “yet my self-respect, Mr. Holt, demands that 
I tell you all, so that you can decide whether or not the 
— the marriage shall take place.” 

He was under stress of great feeling. Without hesi- 
tation Holt put his hand on Fairfax’s shoulder and, in a 
fatherly tone, said: “Gus, you do not tell me anything I 
didn’t know, as Dr. Wade can tell you. Julia received a 
like present from Zeke Brown and we saw what you have 
discovered — saw it last night. Yes, Gus, we saw it last 
night, Myrtle, Dr. Wade and myself; and my wife and I 
have reached a decision.” 

Here Holt paused to let Fairfax grasp what he had 
said. 

The young man backed a few steps away from my 
classmates and, lifting his eyes to Holt’s, asked in a firm 
but respectful voice: “And what is your decision, sir?” 

“My decision is to let you and Julia decide what you 
will do. I shall not attempt to influence her one way or 
the other. I know you, Gus ; I think a man ought to be 
judged by what he is, not by what somebody else is.” 

Holt was so delicate that he would not say “by what 
his father is.” 

Fairfax was deeply moved and greatly relieved, and 
said, gently: “I thank you, Mr. Holt, for that speech; 
and I also appreciate the fairness of your decision.” 

Then he turned to go. 

“Will you see Julia to-night, Gus?” 


A MAN 163 

“No, no, Mr. Holt, not to-night! Let me hope until 
to-morrow !” 

“Good-night, Dr. Wade; I am glad you were here. I 
am glad you know all about it! It seems to me this 
discovery has made me all alone in the world. Good- 
night, Mr. Holt, I can’t see Julia to-night!” 

When the door closed behind him, we sat in silence a 
moment. Then I said : “What do you think Julia will do, 
Dave?” 

“I don’t know, Joe. While, as I told Gus, I’ll not 
attempt to influence Julia’s decision, that’s more than I 
can say for Myrtle. They are both very proud; and if 
my wife continues to try to convince Julia that it will 
bring ridicule on her to marry Gus — well, there is no 
telling what a woman will do out of fear of ridicule.” 

“Yes, that’s so,” replied I. 

“No, Joe,” continued he with a sigh, “I don’t know 
what effect Myrtle is having on Julia; but this I know, 
Joe : Gus is every inch a man !” 

It must have been one o’clock when Belle and I 
started home ; but at that late hour the watchman, as we 
were leaving, brought a letter for Julia from Fairfax. 
Lover like, he changed his mind about communicating 
with his fiancee that night. I imagine, however, that 
Fairfax must have written a part at least of the letter 
before he went in to see Holt. I judged this from the 
bulk of it — though a man in his state of mind can write 
voluminously in a very short time; howbeit a fellow in 
his state of feeling is usually exceedingly critical over 
what he has written — critical because oversensitive; so 
I guess Fairfax must have spent some time on the bulky 
letter I saw in Julia’s trembling fingers. 






> 

I 













* 






























CHAPTER XXVII. 

A Progressive Fairy Tale. 

Duke. 

“I think this tale would win my daughter, too.’" 

Othello. Act I., Scene III. 

The Harpers, just before Rockford College opened, 
gave a delightful porch party, principally for the Nor- 
walkers. 

What a jolly party it was! One of the amusements 
was a progressive love story, which someone started and 
carried on to a certain point, when someone else took it 
up until seven had taken part, each trying to see how 
touching, how thrilling or how funny each could make 
his or her part. 

It was interesting to note how characteristic was the 
contribution each made: Holt's serious; Wilson's homi- 
letical; Belle’s and Mrs. Holt's matter of fact; Alma's 
love-filled; Julia's dreamy, and Fairfax’s — well, all the 
best of all the others combined and, withal, now pathetic, 
now poetic, now rollickingly funny. 

He was by nature fun-loving. Your laughmaker is 
usually such a person. The reputation of laughmaker, 
however, may become a burden. The laughmaker may 
be very serious minded; but his habit of putting serious 
things in a funny vein may result in his being thought 
165 


i66 


THE CLIMBERS 


only funny when he is most in earnest. I suppose Fair- 
fax's performance at Harpers’ porch party (and how 
proud of that performance Julia was) “led him to adopt” 
the progressive story as the vehicle of his message to 
Julia. It evinced the young man’s mental kinship to 
Jeter Horn, that in his circumstances he could thus put 
a message on a matter of so grave moment to himself 
and fiancee. 

Also, it evidenced Julia’s perfect understanding of 
her lover that there was not one chance in a thousand 
that she would think he was trifling. 

She had learned to know that Fairfax was one of 
those natures that are usually most dead in earnest in 
meaning when most facetious in expressing that meaning. 

When Julia broke open Fairfax’s bulky letter, she 
found that a part of that bulk was made by two sheets 
of paper pinned together. These sheets, making eight 
pages, were blank, except for the following: “I love you 
to the last drop of my blood!” 

“Imagine these eight pages filled with every term of 
endearment that has ever been written; then you have 
only a faint picture of my heart’s love !” 

The blank sheets did not surprise Julia, nor did the 
forthcoming letter (evidently started before he called on 
Holt) in the form of a progressive fairy tale : 

“Dear Julia: 

“Once upon a time a fairy youth to fortune and to 
fame unknown loved a fairy princess rare and radiant. 

“In sooth to fortune and to iame he was unknown ; for 
he thought he was an orphan and knew he had no home 
nor name ; Augustus he called himself. And, oh, he was 
lonely in the wide world and mother-hungry; for grim- 
visaged war that stalked fairy land had filched him of his 
mother. ’Twas thus: 

“The race to which the youth and maiden belonged, 


A PROGRESSIVE FAIRY TALE 


167 


for two weary centuries, had clanked loud the thrall that 
greed of gain had riveted upon their helpless limbs — aye, 
clanked them so long with hoarse cry of pain that men 
of the other race, of the North, rushed furious at the 
throats of their brothers of the South that the enthralled 
might go free. 

“The battle of the brothers — how it was brave, how it 
was fierce ! When the strife had almost spent its fury, 
one night some men of the South fell silent and swift on 
the camp of the men of the North. In the confusion, 
when death filled the darkness and brave men bit the 
dust, the youth, a mere child, was separated from his 
mother, and ever after moured her as dead. 

“Events moved swift in fairyland. The youth found 
for guerdon, toil as a tiller of the soil in the North 
country. 

“A hunger of learning gnawed his soul. He sought a 
court of learning. There he met the princess ; not then a 
princess. Her sire was fellow seeker of /truth with the 
youth ; and for that unfeeling fellow knowledge seekers 
laid imposing hands upon the motherless fairy-boy and 
against him waged cruel bantering tongues, the noble 
father faced the ribald throng and said: ‘Whoso touch- 
eth the youth or waggeth unkind tongue against him, 
with me, even me must reckon.’ 

“The taunting and imposition ceased; and much the 
youth loved the sire of the maiden and sought his home, 
where oft he beheld the maiden and noted the comeliness 
of her and the sweetness of her and that she despised 
him not. So, as time fled the youth and the father of 
the maiden wrought at the books until it came to pass 
that the soul of the youth was knit to the soul of the 
maiden ; but he knew it not, nor knew she. 

“Other years fled and the maiden became a princess 
in that her sire was elevated to a throne of the realm of 
learning, and he chose his fellow truth-seeker to support 
his throne and be a great lord in his realm. Then the 
princess and the youth plighted their troth. 

“How happy they! How smooth flowed the stream 
of love, reputed in fairyland never to run smooth ! 


1 68 


THE CLIMBERS 


“But a bitterness the future held for them. 

“Within reach of the realm of the father of the prin- 
cess was a city; about the city's highway there walked 
an old man addicted to pouring liquid fire down his 
throat — liquid fire that at first cheers, but latterly inebri- 
ates. Long years the old man drank until the fiery fluid 
had destroyed his manhood, made loathsome his body 
and rendered his name, once a fair one, a hissing and a 
by-word. 

“An ancient prophet also dwelt in this city of fairy- 
land. Ezekiel was his name. Years ago, he and the 
drunkard had the same woman to wife. The prophet 
was, by the law that held his race in thrall, separated 
from his wife, called Eliza; and she was given, by the 
same law, to the drunkard named Jeter. 

“Jeter and Eliza had born unto them a child, which 
was lost from them in war-time. How the prophet hated 
the man into whose arms his wife had been put! 

“When the youth and princess came to know the 
prophet, for that the love of the maiden and the youth 
was beautiful in the eyes of the old man, he took the 
youthful lovers to his heart. He loved the maiden for 
her charms, and the youth because he reminded him (the 
prophet) of his lost Eliza. 

“Time brought near the wedding night of the youth 
and the princess. The palace was decorated. The invi- 
tations had gone forth. The wedding feast had been pre- 
pared. How the people of fairyland loved the king of the 
realm of learning and his daughter and her betrothed ! 

“Wedding gifts, rich and rare, began to flow into the 
palace. The bride-elect walked on air. The groom was 
so happy that he feared to be happy. 

“Monday before the Thursday the wedding was to be, 
the king sent Augustus on an embassy of grave impor- 
tance to the realm. Faithfully and well he discharged 
his trust ; and with every drop of blood tingling in bliss- 
ful anticipation, he hastened back to report to his over- 
lord and see his betrothed. 

“It was not quite six of the clock Tuesday evening 
when he returned to his abode. As he was preparing to 


A PROGRESSIVE FAIRY TALE 


169 

refresh himself with a bath, a change of apparel and his 
evening’s repast, he discovered on his dressing table a 
wedding gift from the old prophet. He opened it. The 
present proved to be a picture of the wife, from whom, 
long years before, the old man had been separated. 
When the youth beheld the pictured face the sight made 
his heart flutter. He was partly disrobed. As he took 
the picture towards the window to scrutinize it — all the 
time his breath quick and hot — in a mirror he passed the 
youth got a glimpse of himself. Petrified with astonish- 
ment was he. How like as ‘two peas’ were he and the 
pictured woman. 

“All the past flashed through his mind. He needed 
not to question who the woman was. His heart leaped 
to its feet, stretched out eager arms and cried: ‘Mother! 
Mother !’ 

“ ’Twas so. At last, he had found whom long, long 
heart hungry he had sought, his mother, who had been 
the wife alike of the prophet and the swiller of liquid fire. 

“Then burst on him the certitude that he was the fire 
drinker’s son, since Eliza and the prophet were childless. 

“Sands of the seashore, were ye all words, yet were 
ye too few in number to tell the youth’s anguish! O 
miracle of fairyland that he slew not himself! 

“Full well knew he the king and queen, that they 
were proud. Also, full well knew he that the princess, 
rare and radiant, would not have plighted him her troth 
had she known he was the drunken pauper’s son. 

“Until he was weak, he had raged against circum- 
stances like a caged lion threshing himself against prison 
bars until he exhausts himself. Then the youth’s better 
self awoke ; his honor spoke to him. Then, what did he 
say? He sat himself down and wrote the princess this 
missive : 

“ ‘Breath of my body : In anguish unspeakable I 
write thee. 

“ ‘We have plighted our troth ; and oh, to the last 
drop of my blood I love thee; but I fear me that hadst 
thou known me to be such as I have discovered myself 


170 


THE CLIMBERS 


to be — I fear me, 0 princess, that thou wouldst not have 
plighted thy troth to me. 

“ ‘I am neither orphaned nor nameless. This day, as 
a wedding gift, I received a picture of prophet Ezekiel’s 
lost wife — my lost mother. What time I gazed upon the 
pictured face, I knew it for my mother’s. By the same 
token I knew myself to be the lost son of Jeter, the 
drunkard. 

“ ‘Since I am not such as thou didst deem me when 
thou didst swear to bear my name and share my lot, my 
manhood, my honor cry to me and bid me release thee 
from thy vow. 

“Not, O princess, for that I would be unbound; but 
that thou mayest be free to reject or accept me, such as 
thou now knowest me to be — the son of Jeter the shame- 
ful — Jeter, the swiller of liquid death. 

“ ‘Here ends, dear Julia, my part of a progressive fairy 
tale. Take it up where I leave it and finish it — telling 
whether or not the rare and radiant princess accepted 
the release that the fairy youth, moved by a sense of 
honor, laid at her feet.’ 

“P. S. — Since I began the above, I saw your father 
and told him the discovery I made, when he told me, to 
my great surprise, that you know all I have been telling 
you ; and that he leaves the whole matter in our hands. 
Your knowing this and his leaving the matter with us 
makes it easier for you to decide. It is too late for me 
to ask a reply from you till morning; but oh, please 
remember that, in waiting until morning, I wait several 
eternities ! As ever, 

“n„o »* 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The Fruitage Forbidden. 

“Woman’s at best a contradiction.” 

Pope. 

Julia did not keep her lover in suspense the several 
eternities he expected; but late as it was, in a daintily 
perfumed note, sent him by the burly night watchman a 
refusal to accept release from her engagement. 

I had use for my satchel of instruments Tuesday aft- 
ernoon ; they were still in the buggy when I drove Belle 
over to Rockford College for her to see Julia, from sheer 
force of habit (for I never liked to leave them in the 
buggy at night), when Belle and I alighted at Holt's I 
took the satchel in the house with me and set it down 
just inside of the hall. I forgot it when my wife and I 
started home, and did not remember it until we had got 
down the hill off the campus. 

We drove back for it. Mr. and Mrs. Holt were in the 
south parlor. She called out to my wife as I stood in the 
hall: “Belle, come in, and let Julia tell you the news in 
her letter." 

In an instant, Belle was on the way to Julia’s room. 

“What news in Julia’s letter?’’ I asked, addressing 
Mr. and Mrs. Holt, who were standing side by side 
before a sofa from which they had just arisen. 

171 


172 


THE CLIMBERS 


“Oh, nothing that you don't know," answered Holt, 
“only that Gus has released her from her engagement." 

“What do you think of that, Myrtle?” I asked. 

“Why, it's just fine!" she replied; “Dave was just 
telling me that Gus had said the same thing to him in 
your presence." 

“Fine? What do you mean by that?" I asked. 

“Why, I mean I think his conduct is just fine. His 
letter to Julia is just splendid. Gus is a high-toned gen- 
tleman, that’s what he is, and I am proud of him." 

“Why, madame, I thought you were opposed to their 
going on with the marriage?" 

“Who said I was?" 

“Why, Myrtle, I gathered as much from what you 
said to me and Dave when we first saw Zeke’s present." 

“Oh, Joe, it’s a case of 'forbidden fruit/ now that Gus 
has practically asked Julia for his ring." 

“No, Dave, it isn’t that. Gus himself has always been 
all right so far as I’m concerned; but Joe, when I first 
heard it, heard that he was old Jeta’s son — well, I con- 
fess my pride was hurt; but now I am so proud of Gus, 
I don’t care whose son he is." 

“That is very sensible talk, my dear," said her hus- 
band, looking at her tenderly just as Julia, who, with 
Belle, had arrived at the foot of the stairs in time to 
hear what her mother said, left Belle and nestled fondly 
to her step-mother, who put around the bride-elect a 
caressing arm. 

Belle and I left the Holts that night, all of us greatly 
relieved. 

Holt looked as if a great burden had rolled from his 
heart. Julia was so happy she was almost hysterical, 
while Mrs. Holt seemed more like her own gracious self 


THE FRUITAGE FORBIDDEN 


173 


than I had seen her for some time. Some one has said 
that our first parents would not have cared for the for- 
bidden fruit if it had not been forbidden. I would not 
like to think Mrs. Holt’s change of front was due simply 
to Fairfax’s becoming in a sense forbidden fruit by his 
releasing Julia from her engagement. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

The Flight From A Plight. 


“And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, 

That sucked the honey of his music vows. 

O woe is me. 

To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!” 

Hamlet. 

My door-bell rang about eight o’clock Wednesday 
morning. 

The boy went to answer the call. When he told me 
President Holt was in the parlor, you can imagine my 
surprise. 

“Why, good-morning, Holt,” extending my hand. 

“Good-morning, Joe.” 

“What on earth has happened? You look as if you 
were at a funeral, old fellow.” 

“You haven’t seen him, have you, Joe?” 

“Seen whom?” 

“Gus; he’s not at the school; Julia hasn’t seen him — 
wasn’t in to breakfast.” 

“Whew!” I whistled. “Why, no; he hasn’t been 
here.” 

“He’s not at the school; no one has seen him; Julia 
wrote him last night asking him to call this morning. 
Nobody has seen him ; I thought, maybe, he was here or 
at Harper’s with Wilson.” 


175 


176 


THE CLIMBERS 


“No, I haven’t seen him nor heard of him since last 
night. Are his things gone?” 

“I can't tell; I got a master key and went into his 
room. His traveling bag is gone ; but not his trunk ; and 
I don’t know how many of his things.” 

“I wonder what motive he could have for leaving? 
Didn’t he and Julia make it all right?” 

“Yes; she told me she refused his release and asked 
him to see her this morning; and she and Myrtle are 
almost crazy. Joe, the clouds are all back. It’s a mighty 
strange thing.” 

“It is, indeed, Dave; but it may be he is up at Wil- 
son’s.” 

“I believe I will go up and see.” 

“Why, if you don’t want to bother with that carriage, 
my buggy is hitched up, and I am going up that way 
and then over to the school; I’ll take you, Holt.” 

“All right.” And he went and dismissed the car- 
riage. 

We went to Wilson’s, but no one there had seen him. 
Wilson was very much troubled. 

When we got to Rockford College, Julia and her 
mother met us at the door. 

“Have you seen him?” asked Mrs. Holt. 

“No, we haven’t seen anybody that has seen him.” 

Myrtle began to wring her hands while Julia, in tears, 
fled to her room. 

She had hardly got there, while we three were puz- 
zling our heads, when a student came to the door with a 
note for Julia from Fairfax, which the watchman, who 
had just waked, had forgot to deliver. 

Myrtle flew upstairs with the note, in the hope that it 
would give us some clue. It ran thus : 


THE FLIGHT FROM A PLIGHT 


1 77 


“Miss Julia Holt: 

“Since you can not decide, circumstances having de- 
cided for you, I see no necessity of my seeing you in the 
morning. I had hoped for a kinder fate ; but your will 
is your own. There is nothing for me to do but to take 
myself away from Rockford — away from further humilia- 
tion. Adieu. Augustus Fairfax.” 

Julia was wild over the note. I never saw her so 
moved. Evidently, Fairfax had regarded her answer as 
unfavorable, and had left Rockford. 

I insisted that she let us know what she had written 
her lover. Fortunately, she had a copy of the missive she 
had sent him by the watchman. This was her note : 
“Dear Gus: 

“There is no need to keep you in suspense to-night. 
From the first hour of my discovery, I knew my mind. I 
can not decide what I shall do in relation to you ; circum- 
stances have decided for me; and until death there shall 
be no revocation of that decision. Come to see me in 
the morning, and let us talk heart to heart. 

“Good-night, 

“Julia.” 

At once I saw what the trouble was. Julia was so 
positive in her loyalty to Fairfax, never from the moment 
she made the discovery thinking of anything else but 
that she would marry him — I say, Julia was so settled in 
what she was going to do, that she did not make it clear 
to Fairfax whether or not she accepted or refused his 
release. 

What she meant by saying, “I can not decide”; “cir- 
cumstances have decided for me,” is that the fact that 
Gus was under a great burden by reason of his discovery, 
that fact so thrilled her heart with sympathy for him that 
if she had tried she could not do anything else but to 
decide to cling to him. 


178 


THE CLIMBERS 


In the light of Julia’s purpose and feeling, it is appar- 
ent that her note is a most unequivocal declaration of 
her loyalty; to Fairfax, however, hoping, fearing, sensi- 
tive and proud, you can see that the note was as ambigu- 
ous as a message from the Delphian oracle, which prophe- 
cies were so worded as to be true no matter what hap- 
pened. 

Holt and I hastened to the depot to make inquiries, 
and found that Fairfax had bought a ticket for Norwalk 
and had gone on the train leaving Rockford at three 
o’clock in the morning. Evidently he did not sleep after 
getting Julia’s note. 

Now, the problem was to head him off by telegraph, 
apprise him of his mistake and urge him to return. 

We left Julia in bed with her face to the wall, that 
sign of mental anguish as old as man. 

Mrs. Holt, now as zealous for the marriage to Jeter 
Horn’s son as she had been strenuous against it, was 
drinking a bitter cup of remorse, fearful lest some inkling 
of her tacit, howbeit shame-faced opposition to the bril- 
liant young professor, had helped him to misinterpret 
Julia’s note. 

We sent telegrams as far north as Washington, beyond 
which point he could not have arrived at the time we tele- 
graphed. 

Would the telegrams find him, a needle in a hay- 
stack? 

That was the problem. He was asked to reply so as 
to relieve us of suspense; but a message from Holt, as 
late as six o’clock, informed me that no word had come 
from the groom-elect, who fled from what he thought 
was a very humiliating plight. 

Holt mentioned in his wife’s presence how much it 


THE FLIGHT FROM A PLIGHT 


179 


had cost to send such full telegrams, and so many of 
them. Her reply indicated her complete change of heart 
as to the desirability of Jeter Horn’s son as her son-in- 
law. She said, with worried tears in his voice: “Well, 
Dave, my dear, that’s what money’s made for — to spend.” 

Now, I’ve always thought that if I were a dollar, I’d 
like to belong to Mrs. Holt; I know I would be fondly 
cared for. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

At Twilight 

“I love thee so, Dear, that I can only love thee.” 

Insufficiency. 

Mrs. Browning. 

A tense nervousness pervaded the Holt home all day 
Wednesday, but Rockford College folks thought it only 
natural in view of the great coming event, the marriage 
of the President's daughter with the most popular Rock- 
ford professor, Augustus Fairfax. They knew he was 
away, but thought the president had sent his son-in-law- 
elect on a pressing embassy in relation to Rockford's 
threatened college course. 

The Holt children had been kept in the dark as to the 
status of affairs. Their mother’s and Julia's perturba- 
tion of spirit Gladys and Olga attributed to that antici- 
pated affair which the little lassies thought was going to 
be the greatest thing that ever transpired, because, in 
their pretty dresses of which they talked by day and 
dreamed by night, these little maidens were to take a 
prominent part as flower girls to “Jttle,” as they fondly 
called the bride-elect. 

The shadow upon the Holt household, therefore, cast 
no damper on the exuberant spirits of these two happy, 
healthy, tom-boy romps, who lived so much out of doors 
that their mother often said, “I declare, you girls are 

181 


182 


THE CLIMBERS 


birds that light at home only long enough to feed and 
roost.” 

The tense nervousness pervading the Holts’ house- 
hold all day Wednesday was calmed, and the gloom that 
hung thereover at twilight was lifted. 

Nobody was surprised to see Fairfax alight from a 
public carriage that drove up to the entrance of the main 
building of Rockford College; nobody who saw him. 

Mrs. Holt was in Mrs. Harmon’s sick room trying to 
find rest by giving consolation ; the little girls were off to 
play, for it was not quite supper time. Holt was in the 
city, thoroughly discouraged, to make arrangements with 
the newspapers about announcing the postponement of 
the marriage. None of these saw the carriage drive up 
and Fairfax alight and go to his room. No, none of these 
saw this; but Julia did. She was not surprised, for had 
she not all day been straining her eyes for just this sight? 
No, she was not surprised; but oh, wasn’t she glad!” 

The truant groom-elect must have taken time both to 
bathe and dress, for the college community had gone to 
supper, when, looking as if he had just stepped out of a 
bandbox, the young man, who was somewhat of an 
exquisite, bent his steps towards the presidential man- 
sion. 

Julia opened the door, not waiting for him to ring. 
She shut it, and in the south parlor for just an instant in 
silence they looked into each others eyes, nor needed 
words. Their love-lit eyes told it all. 

He opened his arms, taking one step towards her. 
“Oh, Gus!” came in tenderness. She walked into them 
and allowed him to fold her reverently to his heart. 

“My Julia! My life! My God’s gift!” 


AT TWILIGHT 


183 


After a brief cry, she looked up in his face : “Oh, Gus ! 
how could you misunderstand me? How could you think 
that I meant to reject you?” 

“I don’t know ; my pride made me misunderstand you, 
I guess.” 

Then they sat on the sofa. 

“So you never were undecided?” he asked. 

“No ; never, not from the first moment. 

“Of course my pride was hurt just as yours was, Gus; 
but from the first moment I knew you would feel alone 
in the world. I’d give my life to stand between you and 
all the world!” 

A moisture was in the young man’s eyes. 

“I thank God that you feel that way! I thank God 
that you understand me so well !” 

Then, with a characteristically swift change from the 
grave to the gay, he said, with twinkling eyes: “If the 
hub of truth had revolved around the axle-tree of my 
understanding, I wouldn’t have gone, goose-like, chasing 
off to Norwalk to let dear old Dr. Dale hear my tale of 
woe. And now, knowing how my princess “rare and 
radiant” feels, I shall not care how festive the old gent 
Jeter gets what time he is full of the juice of corn!” 

“Oh, Gus!” laughed she, “that letter was just beauti- 
ful ! and funny, too ! And what a botch I made of answer- 
ing it!” 

“No, that was my blunder, and not yours.” 

“No,” she insisted, “it was mine. I ought to have 
taken up the fairy tale where you left off and answered 
it — let me see — I’ve got it written off” — jumping up from 
by his side and running with light steps upstairs to her 
room for it. 


184 


THE CLIMBERS 


While she was gone, he sat perfectly still — his lips 
moving, his hand to his brow. 

This is what she brought downstairs and they took to 
the window to read in the twilight : “And the fairy prin- 
cess said unto the fairy youth, 'Oh, Augustus, little thou 
knowest of woman if thou deemest I could do aught but 
cling to thee in this thine hour of sorest need. I know 
thee, not as son of Jeter, but as king of my heart ; and 
were Jeter ten thousand times more shameful, and thou 
ten thousand times his son, still I love and cling to thee. 
I love thee so, I can but love thee! ,, 

Fairfax drew Julia to him and kissed her again and 
again. When he released her he said : “This ought to be 
added to the fairy story, 'And the youth and the princess 
did wed ; and ever after they lived happily ; for the prin- 
cess blamed not the son for the father, and the youth 
thrust not his father upon the princess nor her family; 
but, on the other hand, for that Augustus loved the truth 
and despised a lie, he made it a point of honor neither to 
proclaim nor deny the fact that he was the son of Jeter 
the shameful.* ” 

“Gus !” she said, nestling close to him, “you are a man 
of honor! I would not ask you to hide the fact that Jeter 
Horn is your father; and if you did, I could not honor 
you as I do.” 

“He is nobody to be proud of, Julia; but it is the 
grace of God and environment that make the difference 
between people in this world.” 

“Yes, all of us are blessed above our merits,” she 
replied ; and they lapsed into silence, standing arm in arm 
by the window in the bewitching, tender gloaming. The 
same spell was upon them both. 

She instinctively knew what he meant by pulling her 


AT TWILIGHT 


185 


gently by the sleeve. At a chair near the window side 
by side they knelt, each with an arm about the other, and 
in reverent voice, with bowed head, he said : 

“Oh, Lord, our Heavenly Father, we thank thee for 
all thy mercies to us. Help us, we pray Thee, to serve 
Thee.” 

They arose from their knees. He was about to put 
his arms around her again, when, into the room like a 
storm, burst six-year-old Gladys. “Mamma, here's Gus !” 

Mrs. Holt came into the room. In her hand was the 
delayed telegram from Fairfax. 

“Gus, you here? I was just coming to Julia with your 
telegram !” 

“Why, Julia, I thought you had heard from me?” he 
said, surprised. 

“No, Gus, not a thing until I saw you.” 

“That’s strange,” he marveled. 

“But you are here, Gus !” exclaimed Mrs. Holt. 

“Yes, mother,” he replied feelingly. 

“She ain’t your mamma!” burst out Gladys. 

Mrs. Holt’s eyes were moist. “Yes I am, Gladys! 
Kiss me, my son.” 

She took a step towards him, and he kissed her, say- 
ing reverently, “Mother !” The feeling was tense ! 

“Don’t you want me for another brother, Gladys?” 
he asked, scarcely able to steady his voice. 

“No; I’m going to wait till I get a grown lady; then 
I’m going to get a husband just like you !” 

This gave them all a chance to laugh, and thereby 
relieve their feelings. 

Holt’s arrangement with the newspapes to announce 
the postponement of the marriage — it is needless to say — 
he countermanded. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

A Voice Out of the Darkness. 

“Do thy duty ; that is best 
Leave unto thy Lord the rest.” 

The Legend Beautiful. 

Longfellow. 

Whose voice? Well, wait and see. Out of what 
darkness? Out of that existing when Julia and Fairfax 
spoke their vows; for it was not very dark. The cere- 
mony took place early, promptly at seven o’clock Thurs- 
day night, the invitation reading “from seven to ten.” 
By ten, all the more than two hundred guests had come, 
seen, congratulated, chatted, admired, been served with 
a hand-around, chocolate, cake and cream, and gone ; all, 
except the inner circle of friends, principally the Nor- 
walkers. 

I can see that scene yet! 

I wish some of the newspaper men who industriously 
keep before the public gaze the no account and criminal 
element of the race could have seen the assemblage at 
Julia’s marriage, Rockford’s four hundred, well-to-do, 
well-dressed, refined, intelligent people of color. 

Yes; emphatically people of color; all shades, from 
the ace of spades to lily white. And their dress — well, I 
can not trust myself to describe them; for Belle tells 
me I don’t know anything about women’s clothes. Per- 

187 


1 88 


THE CLIMBERS 


haps I do make myself ridiculous when I undertake to 
catalogue fabrics, colors and styles; but nevertheless, I 
know what I like; and I’ve been around rich, elegant 
white folks enough to know when a woman is tastefully 
gowned. 

Yes, Rockford’s colored four hundred were there — I 
believe Zeke Brown came nearer being a domestic than 
any other guest that was present — and Negroes’ money 
will buy the same fine things that white folks’ money will. 

Now, I testify that these Negroes looked like white 
folks, so far as clothes go. Furthermore, they acted like 
refined white folks. I’ve seen refined white folks both in 
the South and in the North. 

Yes, I say it is a pity that white people of the South 
seldom see or hear of colored folks like those at that mar- 
riage, although to Northern folks some Southern people 
boast that they know the Negro! Yet they keep them- 
selves in such a frenzy about social equality, or rather 
social intercourse, that it comes to pass that in this mat- 
ter the best Negroes and best white people are Jews and 
Samaritans that have no dealings ! 

Thus it transpires that Southern people get most of 
their notions of the race from their domestics, with whom 
they come in contact, and the worthless and the criminal 
element about whom principally they read in the South- 
ern press. 

It’s a great pity that white folks are so desperately 
afraid of Negroes — afraid of social equality, or rather, 
social intercourse. It is a pity for two reasons: first, 
because the dread of social equality is baseless. Negroes 
no more want to associate socially with white people than 
white people want to mingle socially with Negroes! 

Secondly, this baseless fear of social equality betrays 


A VOICE OUT OF THE DARKNESS 


189 

the people of the South into many, many injustices 
toward the once enslaved race. Indeed, the fear of social 
equality is so entirely baseless, that when I hear white 
people, sensible about everything else, rave about this, I 
sometimes wonder if they are not faking! .1 wonder if 
this wild talk is not indulged in not because there is real 
apprehension of social intercourse, but to stir up race 
feeling for political purposes ! 

But I started to tell about the scene when Julia and 
Gus said the fateful words. I like to call them Julia and 
Gus, for I feel a proprietorship in them, though neither 
of them is related to me ! I am proud of them ! I should 
feel that God had greatly blessed Belle and myself if He 
gave us a daughter as noble as Julia, and a son as manly 
as Gus. 

Yes, I can see that scene now! 

Lights everywhere, falling in mellow tints. The well- 
dressed, refined, good-humored company massed near the 
doors of the study — the south parlor, the broad hall, and 
all around the north parlor. Belle at the piano in the 
broad hall. Holt in the north parlor alcove, beautiful 
with its bell of flowers. Decorations everywhere. A 
quiet hum of conversation. Belle strikes up the wedding 
march from Lohengrin. A hush falls. Olga and Gladys, 
sweet in white from head to foot, each with an exquisite 
basket of flowers, mince daintily amid a hum of loving 
admiration. Now they take their places in the alcove, 
one on one side, and the other on the other of the father 
who, with book in hand, stands waiting. 

Next come the bridesmaids. Next Wilson and Alma. 
Then, Mrs. Holt, dowager empress resplendent. Then 
a pause. 


190 


THE CLIMBERS 


Down the broad stair, looking like a Hindoo princess, 
comes the dainty little bride. 

Fairfax, the tall, pleasant-faced black prince, meets 
the brown princess at the door. A deeper silence marks 
their measured graceful march up to beneath the bell of 
flowers before the president-minister-father celebrant of 
the marriage. 

The low, soulful music perfectly harmonizes with the 
sacred, tender service. Absolute silence. The ceremony 
begins. 

It had progressed to that juncture where, on the sol- 
emn silence in mellow, resonant tones, fell these time- 
hallowed admonitions : “If any man can show just cause 
why these two may not lawfully be joined in wedlock, 
let him now speak or else forever hereafter hold his 
peace. ,, 

Upon the death-like silence rang out, at that instant, 
loud, shrill and uncanny these words : “I’m a man you 
don’t see every day! Circumstances alters cases! Up 
on dis very hill, whah in times pas’ an’ gone, ole Jeta 
used to slave fo’ de whiete folks, de niggas is got a fine 
college; an’ is actin’ poure white! Ha! Ha! Ha!” 

A thrill of excitement quivered over the company ! 

Holt waited in self-possessed silence; but his wife 
clung to the back of a chair as if she feared the owner of 
that voice would bolt into the room. Julia trembled like 
an aspen leaf. I saw Fairfax’s back stiffen; meanwhile, 
he swallowed hard. But the interruption was for only a 
moment; for the clang of the bell of the police patrol 
wagon sounded in an instant after the cry. In less time 
than it takes to tell it, all was quiet. The patrol wagon 
was out of hearing, Jeter in it on his way back to the 


A VOICE OUT OF THE DARKNESS 191 

poor-house — so weak and ill that he died before the 
wagon reached its destination. 

Yes, the interruption was only for an instant; but it 
was not too brief for this swift tableau between the man 
and woman before the altar: Julia trembles like an aspen 
leaf; Fairfax drops her hand; turns around, facing her; 
looks intently into her eyes; then, at Holt. Julia calms 
herself, lifts her face to Fairfax's — all her soul in her 
eyes. He takes her hand again; they turn around; the 
groom looks at Holt ; the ceremony goes on ! 

Who of that company could guess the meaning of that 
pantomime? Only the Norwalkers, who, alone, were in 
the secret, divined that Fairfax, even at the altar, had 
offered to release Julia if she desired to be freed. 

I am proud of him for making that offer! and of Julia 
for refusing it ! 


THE END. 


NOV 25 1912 


Lblilr’ 16 










LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


